Anticoagulation
by aRegularJo
Summary: Sometimes things need to be unclotted. And sometimes clots stay together. Years later, House's people work through the ordinary issues of their lives. House contronts the future, and Chase and Cameron confront their pasts. Ch/Cam, House/Cuddy
1. What Would You Do If I Sang Out of Tune

**Anticoagulation**

**Author: **Lyssanick

**Rating: **PG/PG-13

**Genre: **Drama/Gen/Romance, future ensemble, not overtly romantic

**Pairings: **Chase/Cameron, House/Cuddy

**Spoilers: **Nothing specific, though references to canon do happen.

**Disclaimer: **My driver's license does not say David Shore, therefore, I don't own House, MD, or any recognizable characters. I also don't own the songs whose lyrics make up the chapter titles.

**Summary: **Clot: _noun _1.) A semisolid mass, as of blood; 2.) An idiot or blockhead; 3.) A small group of people _verb_ 1.) To cause to become blocked or obscured. A health scare forces some necessary growth. Future.

**Notes:** My first multi-chapter House story, started out of pure boredom leading to endless "What if" questions. It's partially inspired by House and Wilson's conversation in "Half-Wit," where Wilson tells House that he needs to start appreciating the people that care for him. It takes place in the far, far future, and includes some new characters, but don't worry: Everything will be explained. It will be a little slow-moving (and probably slow-posting) and span several genres, but constructive criticism and feedback will make my feet move faster.

* * *

House

_No, I get by with a little help from my friends_

_Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends_

_Mm, Gonna try with a little help from my friends_

_The Beatles "A Little Help from my Friends" _

The first thing he heard was the steady beeping. The second thing he heard was a rustle of paper. He shifted, hoping whoever was in the room would leave. No such luck.

"House? You awake? I think you're faking…I _can_ read an EEG, you know."

Cameron. She wasn't so easy to trick any more, and she rarely put up with much crap either, so he reluctantly opened his eyes. Everything looked watery, opaque; he was clearly lying in a hospital bed but had no idea why. Cameron, who wore a navy blue pantsuit and one of her plunging-neckline sweaters under her labcoat , looked hazy and unsubstantial. He could, however, see that she had her I'm a Professional Doctor face on.

"Good. You're awake. Don't try and talk, House. Blink if you can understand me."

He blinked. Once. God, his eyes hurt. His skin felt taut, and sallow. He breathed deeply before realizing that was impossible. The room was quiet, bluish; he couldn't hear the nurses' station.

"Okay, don't freak. Or talk." She leaned over and flashed a penlight in his eyes. "Good. You collapsed in Diagnostics two days ago. Embolic stroke, a clot that originated around your kidneys broke off. It hit in your left spinocerebellum, Chase and Foreman found it in a CT. You had cerebral ischemia, lasting about two minutes. You pitched forward and hit your head, leading to a small subdural bleed, which was enough to send you into a coma and we had you intubated through this morning, when we switched you to oxygen. You were put on anticoagulants immediately and there doesn't seem to be any chance of recurrence. We repaired the bleed, which wasn't that serious, all things considered, but there was some swelling. The EEG showed normal brain wave function. Don't try and talk yet, you're still sore from the intubation. Hands out in front, eyes closed."

He complied, and Cameron visibly released a sigh. "Thank God, House." She squeezed his arm. "We'll do nerve testing later, let me finish telling you everything first. Your heart rate and BP were a high but stabilized, though you really should have _told_ someone you've been having blood-pressure issues. BUt we got you to the ICU quickly, there didn't seem to be any complications from any of your other injuries, including the 15 or so times you've nearly killed yourself." He rolled his eyes.

"Keep listening," she admonished, and then swallowed. " However, we did notice a decrease in liver and kidney functions, which is going to be monitored from here on out. There appears to be calcification around your hepatic and renal arteries, which is how the embolism began, and in your carotid artery as well. _However, _your decrease in liver function led to a decrease in coagulants, so they balanced each other out for a while so we didn't catch either. House, considering that you've been on statins since your _first_ infarction … it's really not good that you've got buildup. Luckily, there doesn't appear to be atherosclerosis in your brain, yet." He hoped he wouldn't see another Cameron breakdown, but she kept it together very well.

"Chase will have the lifestyle-changes lecture with you later," she continued. "Besides painkillers—by the way, you're not allowed to self-monitor your morphine, Chase assigned a nurse to that—you're on Prozac and heparin and warfarin. We'll start easing you off the heparin soon. Chase is your attending physician. We've called Foreman back to New Jersey and he'll run some final tests to make sure function has been restored, but I think that can wait till tomorrow. I think we can say you're recovering." She flipped a page, then put the clipboard down. "Is there anything I can get you?"

"Where's Cuddy?" he rasped, wincing at the burn. His voice sounded dusty from disuse.

Cameron sighed. "She flew up as soon as I called her. She got here late Tuesday night—you passed out about forty-eight hours ago exactly— and she was here from Tuesday night till this morning at about 10, when Wilson finally convinced her to go get some sleep. It's a little after five right now. I'll give her and Wilson a call, okay?"

He nodded. He felt like he'd been pancaked by a truck. "I really think you should sleep right now—you're actually really, really drugged up. We'll give you a sedative tonight and ease you off in the morning. I'm so glad you woke up though." He looked up and saw how exhausted she looked. Perpetually pretty Cameron had aged, her face sagging gently, crows feet pulling at her eyes, wrinkles softening her jawline. She was still playing musical chairs with her hair color, was currently trying a light auburn that kept her youthful-looking enough for 56.

"House? House is awake!" Rocco rushed into his view.

"Rock, step back honey. House needs his rest," Cameron scolded, but she stroked her son's back reassuringly. "But yes, he's up. He understood everything so far, and he spoke. So you're okay, House is still here."

Relief flooded Rocco's face; House was reminded of bursting dams. Cameron turned toward him and smiled. "For such a misanthrope, you've certainly gotten a lot of attention. Pretty much every fellow that stayed for a year sent flowers or even stopped by, Elizabeth's been cutting class these last two days, Sophie and Claire have slept in chairs, and this one has come both evenings after school and we had to drag him home," she absentmindedly played with her son's scruffy blonde hair. "Rocco, why don't you grab your things and tell your dad House is up?"

He nodded, but turned to House first. "I'm glad you woke up, House," he said, and House felt a pang at his honesty. Rocco was the spitting image of his father, all longish hair and sappy eyes, and he was an innocent, naïve 12-year-old kid. Rocco could get to him in ways that not even his three older sisters could, and they had latched onto House from a young age and demanded and received attention. Rocco squeezed House's forearm before trotting out to find his father.

"After Foreman looks at you I'm getting PT and OT in here tomorrow. You're still relatively young, you know, and the stroke wasn't that bad. But the atherosclerosis is worrisome."

"And _totally _unexpected," he snarked. The noise hurt and didn't seem to be coming from his vocal cords, so he stopped talking.

She smiled wanly. "I'm glad you have your sense of humor back. For some reason we all missed it."

Rocco reentered, carrying a backpack and followed by his father and three sisters. "House, good, you're up." Chase said, his relief evident as well. He wore pale green scrubs and a labcoat, a surgical cap covering his longish silver hair.

"Hey, House."

"How're you feeling?"

"How's your head? Just nod, don't try and speak," the three Cameron-Chase sisters crowded next to his bed, resembling a clutch of nervous mother hens. Sophie kept twiddling her cross necklace. Claire kept biting her nails and avoiding eye contact. Elizabeth appeared to be closely scrutinizing him. He rolled his eyes.

"Rocco, I said to get your _dad_," Cameron said.

"We were in Dad's office," Elizabeth said hastily, breaking eye contact with House and looking at her mother. "We wanted to see House."

"Okay, well, now that you can all see House is awake, I need you four to leave. There shouldn't be that many people in here, anyways, or the nurses'll get mad," all three daughters scoffed, but their mother kept talking. "Elizabeth, call Cuddy and Wilson. They're at Wilson's. Ask them to come in tonight but to stop at House's and pick up some clothes and things. Sophie, tell the nurses that House woke and he's not to administer his own morphine, and they need to check on him a lot. Find that list we made, too, please, of everyone who's sent stuff and stopped by in the last two days. Claire, call Dr. Foreman and tell him House woke up but is still pretty drugged, and that initial signs look good. Then everyone really, _really _needs to get their bags and stuff. Rocco… make sure your sisters do their jobs." The four kids—though, to be fair, Elizabeth was a junior in college and the twins were seniors in high school and so didn't really count as kids anymore—nodded at their mother's orders and left.

"You turn your daughters into employees and turn my _patient care _into some sort of doctors' reunion with everyone I used to work with? And appointing yourselves my doctors? And then putting me in a room without a television but filled with flowers? Wow, I'm so glad to know that people care." Finally, his voice felt like it was inching toward normality.

Chase turned to Cameron. "I don't think we're going to have to worry about Broca's area damage."

She smiled and shook her head. "Two reasons: All the other doctors are scared of you. And, from your end, we're the only doctors left practicing here that you trained, which means we're the only ones you're going to trust. Same with Foreman, and Kutner, who came by yesterday and volunteered to run your rehab. And also, for some reason, our children adore you._"_

"They really should know better by now," House muttered. He started testing his arms, his legs, but Chase immediately moved to stop him.

"Don't strain yourself, not till we get Foreman back here to look at you," he said sternly. It must have been the fog of coming out of a coma, but House swore that Chase sounded more Australian today than he had in two decades. "Try it again and I'll sedate you."

"Power-tripper," House muttered, but settled back again. His head felt too thick to come up with better comebacks.

"Yeah, try not to speak so much, either." Chase said and turned to Cameron. "You check his pupils?"

She nodded. "Response rates were good. Dilation was good, too. Little jaundiced, though."

Elizabeth popped her head in. "I called Cuddy and Wilson. Cuddy was still sleeping, so Wilson was going to wake her up and then run to House's to pick some stuff up, and then they'll be in."

"Good," Cameron nodded. "Get your stuff, get ready to go home. Rocco has basketball practice at six so I need to get him home and ready. And you should probably go back on a local tonight, since House is up. Class tomorrow."

She shook her head. "I have all my books, and I don't have classes on Friday," she pointed out. "I'll stay through Sunday. I haven't been home in weeks, and a weekend here would be nice." The last few days, since her mother had called and said, "Now don't freak" had been a haze of adrenaline, a few days in her old bed would probably do her good.

Her mother rolled her eyes. "Did Sophie and Claire get a hold of Foreman and the nurses?" she asked.

Elizabeth nodded again. "Yeah, Foreman said he'd come in tomorrow morning, early, because he doesn't want the drugs interfering, and the nurses sound a little scared, but they're going to do it."

"Excellent, gullible nurses," House said. His voice felt more familiar.

"You realize Cuddy or Wilson will probably spend the night? No intimidating the nurses, or I'll just let Cuddy and Wilson give you sedatives as well," Chase said.

"How's your pain right now, House?" Cameron moved to take a look at the monitors on his right.

"He's fine, Cameron, look at the EEG," Chase looked at House sharply.

"Yeah, I'm _really_ going to trust a doctor who doesn't know his wife's first name yet," House snarked right back. "It could use a little upping."

"You weren't injured in a way that could cause significant pain," Chase retorted.

"My _head_ is wounded. Only morphine can help," he shot his most pitiful look at Elizabeth, who was probably now the most likely person in the room to cave now that Chase had told off Cameron.

She didn't, though, and shot him an annoyed look. "House, if I caved to that you wouldn't respect me anymore."

"Very true," he admitted.

"Okay, I really need to get Rocco to basketball. I'll take you three home as well. Chase, can you stay with House till Cuddy and Wilson get here?"

"Yeah, we'll be fine," he said. Just then, though, his pager went off. "Damn, nevermind. I need to get this," he said, moving toward the door.

"Elizabeth, are you okay staying with House for a little bit? Just till Cuddy and Wilson get here?" Cameron had never been great at nonverbal communication, and even House picked up on the fact that Cameron was worried that Elizabeth wouldn't be able to put up with House's crap.

Elizabeth shot her mother a perfect, annoyed look, which made House laugh. Damn. Not to be attempted again. "Mom," she said patiently. "My high-school graduation gift from him was him telling me that you took meth and booty-called Dad before you two started dating, and then you were friends-with-benefits for about a month. Trust me, I can handle post-coma House."

Chase and Cameron, who had been heading out the door, both turned around quickly enough to send a whip-crack of light through House's head. Cameron had her familiar swallowed-an-egg look and Chase had his seething I'm-a-_father_ look. "Stroke victim, here," House said, wincing and ducking from any potential blow.

"Mom, Dad, that was three years ago. I'm fine. I'm not permanently scarred." She pushed blonde curls away from her face and knotted them into a hair tie. "Besides, someone needs to stay. And Dad, you like have an emergency."

Chase and Cameron exchanged looks, and Chase shrugged, then dashed off to deal with whatever emergency he'd been paged with. Chase oversaw surgery, critical care, emergency care, and diagnostic medicine, which had been combined since House's retirement two years ago, after Cuddy's decision to retire. The departments overlapped anyways, and ensured a smooth flow of new diagnostic cases. There were six diagnostic fellows now and two attendings, allowing Chase to focus his attention wherever he needed to. Basically, it broke down to four days running cases and supervising rotations in the ICU and ED, and the other three days of the week constantly filling out the paperwork. Though retired, House had stayed on as a consultant in Diagnostics, popping in for a few hours daily to bug Chase and, when that failed, to find Cameron and to harass her as well.

Cameron had become a full-time immunologist, with 9-to-5 hours so she could be around the kids as much as possible. She specialized in high-risk, difficult cases. She saw a lot of lupus and sarcoidosis. Beyond her doctoring duties, she was the head of Allergy, Immunology, and Rheumatology; oversaw all general clinical medicine; served on the board of directors; and was the hospital's vice-dean for research. These additional duties only fed her love of properly filed paperwork. House would sometimes visit her, but her cases were boring and she spent too much time doing administrative duties, which was even duller. She had noticed, however, that House's visits to her eighth-floor offices had become more frequent and cantankerous since Cuddy's decision to move to Naples (and his decision not to go too) six months ago.

Cameron finally nodded at her daughter, and said, "Take the twins' car home. Say hi to Cuddy and Wilson." She looked at House, "I'm glad you're up. We'll be back tomorrow morning."

"Night, Cameron."

Cameron left, and Elizabeth sat in the chair below the window and sighed. As soon as Chase and Cameron announced their engagement, House had known that two things would be true of the eventual offspring: They would have the worst temper tantrums, and they would be extremely attractive. Both came true four times.

Elizabeth bore a striking resemblance to Cameron, but her curls were golden and she had her father's eyes. Having been completely assured of House's affection since infancy, she was bold with him, threw crap right back at him, and refused to let herself feel belittled by him. She was less afraid of him than her parents still were. This preternatural strength—which all four kids had—had enchanted him since Elizabeth was young, and he had always immensely respected her and enjoyed her company. Not that he would ever verbalize that, of course.

"So, way to completely monopolize everyone's attention and freak everyone out _again_, only to pull through just fine," she said casually. He noticed that her eyes were tired and bloodshot and she was tapping her foot at a fast pace; she'd been drinking a lot of caffeine.

"You're the ones that choose to care. I'd much rather die alone."

She pulled a face, then continued, "Those flowers came from Taub, who would have come to visit but he's in California this week. Those are from Winslow and Leffler, who both came by. They're still both down at Penn. You need to stop sending good people there. Kutner and Mrs. Kutner—I can _never_ remember her name and I always feel awful—came down too and brought the boys, who are still irrationally scared of you and seemed to think you'd wake up and start making scary faces. Downside of living in two hours away, I suppose. He wanted to be involved in your recovery too, but the distance is kind of a lot. The pictures are courtesy of Rebecca. Foreman got here Tuesday night, even if he spent the majority of it muttering about what a jackass you are. And Cuddy and Wilson are both freaking _exhausted_ from pulling a two-day vigil, so be nice to them when they come. They were so tired that Leah practically forced them back to their place."

"Maybe if Cuddy hadn't moved to Naples she wouldn't feel so guilty."

"She begged you to come along, don't pull that crap," Elizabeth said. "Both of them have been worried sick."

"Both of them have overworked guilt complexes. Which is why they stuck around me in the first place. I feel fine, now. When can I pop this joint?"

"You're on bed rest and you haven't eaten in days. You're here for a while. Dad and Cuddy both think self-diagnosis isn't exactly the best thing right now," the sides of her mouth twitched involuntarily into a smile. "You need to see where your body's at," she added, more gently.

"You sound almost like a doctor, instead of someone whose parents are paying for some overeducated foreigners with pompous accents can teach her how to 'really read'."

She smiled. "The accents are really cute. That's what suckered me in."

"Seriously? _English_? Come on. I taught you how to read when you were three. The least you could do is put all of those German and French classes to use and _read_ in another language. More impressive."

"A, you taught me how to memorize lists from _Gray's Anatomy_ when I was three. You taught me how to read when I was four. B, I like traveling to France and Germany but not _studying _the languages. And C, I really like my classes. I think I'm going into book editing. I have an interview next week for an internship at a boutique publishing house."

"Last week you thought playwriting was a good career. And boutique publishing? So you can guide narcissistic pseudo-celebrities through publishing their memoirs: _How I Realized I was an Alcoholic at 19, Because Mommy Enabled Me? _Useless. You're throwing yourself away. What's next, window decorating at Barney's? Thank God for you your parents are rich doctors and you're hot." His tone was scathing; one that Elizabeth had had to learn to ignore at a young age.

"Thanks. Not at all creepy for someone pushing 70."

"A rich husband is probably within reach for you. Also, you bring it upon yourself. You can see your bra through that top. Do you wear that at school? Don't kids know the word 'slutty' these days?"

"We use it about as often as pervy old guy, yeah. And you're the one with a thin gown _barely_ covering your equipment."

"Also, black bra? You've grown up, Elizabeth Cameron-Chase."

"And you haven't, House," Cuddy said from the doorway.

He tried to turn, but that didn't happen, so he waited until both Cuddy and Wilson came into view. "Hey! Neither have you. Red bra."

"How you keep pulling through things like this will never cease to amaze me," Cuddy said, grabbing the chart. "Seriously, House! A stroke! Atherosclerosis, liver issues, kidney issues. You could have _cancer. _It's amazing after all the times you've gotten close to killing yourself."

"Blah, blah, blah," House said carelessly. "You people are all supposed to be doctors; you're surprised I have liver and kidney issues? Except you," he turned toward Elizabeth, "you're only expected to know how to _read_."

Cuddy banged the chart on the end of the bed, signaling to House that this would be a Very Serious Talk. "Yes, and _as a doctor_ I recommended years ago that you cut back on Vicodin and alcohol."

Elizabeth grabbed her purse and said, "You know, I actually need to get going. I'll let you guys have some time now."

"Thank you, Elizabeth," Cuddy said, her voice dropping and belying exhaustion. "How's Columbia, by the way?"

"Love it," she smiled. "Are you two going to be here the entire night? Dad's still around, but he got paged, and Mom headed home already."

Cuddy tossed a bag on House's bed, signifying they were there for the long haul. "Yep. Don't worry, tell your parents we'll take good care of the patient."

"Alright. Dad said to just call if you need permission to administer meds. He's not allowed to self-regulate."

"Good to know," Wilson said dryly, checking out the monitors. "Good night, Elizabeth. "

"Night guys. Night House, glad you're up," Elizabeth called, keys swinging as she left the room.

A chill descended on the room once Elizabeth left. Wilson tried to keep conversation going, but House's energy started to drain, putting a lag on the rest of the room. Cuddy, after yelling at House and making sure he was OK, suddenly couldn't bear looking him in the eye. Wilson finally stepped out to buy candy bars and call Leah, and House looked at Cuddy. "So, couldn't bear to be away?"

"Greg," she said, and suddenly looked even older than her 65 years, "I was, and still am, extremely worried about you. I still love you. And I am still _furious_ with you."


	2. Pick Me Up With Golden Hands

**Hey all!** Thanks so much for reading and reviewing. I really appreciate it, so please keep them coming!

Disclaimer in part one.

**A note on the last names (big fanwank): **Cameron's last name, professionally and legally, is still Cameron, because her medical license, board certifications, and journal articles all used the last name, and it's an awful, time-consuming hassle to try and change all of those. Socially, she may use Allison Cameron-Chase to avoid confusion over her marital status, though she still probably considers herself simply Allison Cameron. Chase's last name is obviously still Chase, and they combined those into Cameron-Chase for the children. I checked and based the last name off many friends with a hyphenated last name. There's no hard-and-fast rule in English-speaking countries about combining last names. In many Spanish-speaking nations, the mother's surname is legally required to come last, but the rules in U.S. generally say you can give your kids whatever last name you please. I went with Cameron-Chase because I thought it sounded the prettiest.

* * *

Elizabeth

_I Would Like To Reach Out My Hand_

_I May See You, I May Tell You To Run_

_You Know What They Say About The Young_

_--Rusted Root, "Send Me On My Way"_

Elizabeth navigated the familiar path between PPTH and her childhood home without even focusing on the road. This trip had probably been the first she'd driven as a licensed driver; she'd driven it barefoot, hungover, in tears, and while screaming on her cellphone. She knew when to brake involuntarily, knew where the cops hid out. She instead focused her attention on House, her parents, her siblings.

Mostly, she worried about House's fate. She was lucky, she knew, in that she was allowed to openly care about House, something he still didn't want her parents to do, though they occasionally (at Christmas, for instance, or in medical emergencies like these) foisted themselves into the situation. Sophie, Claire, and Rocco were allowed the same privileges as she. House had always been absolutely inappropriate with them—once, when through a series of seriously unfortunate coincidences he'd been their babysitter, he showed the girls _Psycho_, though they'd been four and six at the time, and none of them took a bath for a week—he'd never hurt them, never betrayed their trust. He'd done so to her parents, she knew, but that, she'd decided long ago, was because at the time her parents hadn't really _understood _how House operated, what his limits as a human being were and where his priorities as a doctor lay. His reality had disappointed their expectations, expectations that, even as a child, she had never had.

House had seen Elizabeth on the day she was born; had been a huge part of her life since she was eight weeks old and he kidnapped her from the daycare on her mother's first full day back at the hospital. Since childhood, he had insulted (in order of the incidents she remembered, the rest were left to time) her toys, her stuffed animals, her kindergarten teacher, her books, her dance teacher, her glasses, her braces, her room redecoration, her favorite purple knee socks, nearly every single trait she inherited from either parents (her mother's 'self-righteousness' came up most), her soccer coach, her friends, her dislike of lacrosse, her cooking ability, her ironing ability, three boyfriends, and her decision to major in English lit. He'd never been intentionally cruel, though, only griped about how everyone else wasn't up to standards and that she needed to push herself. She freaking adored him.

And now he was sick, truly sick this time. She knew, rationally, that House would never have a long and full life, that by living he had killed that possibility. But she'd never thought about the actually realities of losing him, and now the thought was a cold brick wall looming over her mind. It didn't matter, really, that he had appeared to pull through this stroke remarkably well; if there were any more limitations to his independence now it would be severely psychologically crippling. He wouldn't want to go through a recovery process at all.

She slid the car into its spot in the garage and walked into the kitchen, tossing the keys onto the counter. Her mother was standing there, suit jacket off and moccasins on, cooking something. "Hey," Elizabeth said. "I thought you had to take Rocco to basketball?"

"Sophie ended up doing it; she was headed to the high school anyways for rehearsal." Allison said. "I'm making lemon-and-rosemary chicken and angel hair pasta, do you want to set the table for three? Dad's shift doesn't end till eight, but he has tomorrow off, if you two want to hang out." Elizabeth and Robert were extremely similar and extremely close.

"Cool," she said happily, pulling plates from the cabinet. "I'm glad House woke up."

"Me, too," her mother stirred the spaghetti. "I was very relieved, too, hardly any damage from the stroke. I'm curious to see what Foreman finds."

"What happens next? Do you think he'll have a long recovery?"

"No clue. I'm a bit worried about his mobility, but his faculties seem intact."

"And he'll have a recovery period?"

"Of course. But it's House, he'll do about three or four days of it and then say he's fine."

"Will he be, though?"

"I don't know, Lizzy—you know how this works. We wait. We see."

"You think Cuddy will take him back with her to Florida?"

"No clue, Lizzy, haven't thought that far—what are you trying to get at?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I'm just worried that if he has _any _mobility issues, it'll affect his recovery because he won't feel that he has something to work toward. And that he won't really recover, especially since he's got all these liver and kidney issues."

"He had those kidney and liver issues before the stroke. The thing about dealing with House is that you have to understand that he'd rather have these kidney and liver issues."

"I know. I just feel like he's going to impede his own recovery, and then get frustrated and bogged down, really cyclical, you know. And then he'll just be less mobile and sicker, and we'll have to make decisions we don't want to make."

"Like, end-of-days care for House? That's all Cuddy's responsibility."

"Cuddy is 65, and tiny. You really think she'll be able to oversee his care from Florida?"

"Yes," Allison said. "I do." She put the chicken in the frying pan, squeezed lemon juice and oregano on top. "Cuddy's Cuddy. She can make the decisions when she needs to."

"I'm not _talking_ like whether or not he should go on life support, I'm talking about making sure his mobility doesn't decrease after this. Because then it's a slippery slope. He'll just get depressed and won't care as much about recovery, which will make it worse, and then he won't care when he ends up with liver cancer and four months, tops."

"You're incredibly over-dramatic, you know?"

"House says I got it from you."

"I _know_ he does." She concentrated on the chicken. "Anyways, let's just wait and see what Foreman says."

"You think he can be gone by this weekend?" Elizabeth folded silverware into napkins.

"Foreman's a good friend, and a good doctor."

"He's not a good friend, he's kind of an ass, and of course he's a good doctor." Foreman was another one of those people whom she'd known her entire life, and while she, deep down, knew that he was complex and tangled and nuanced, mostly she just thought he was a showy jackass. He drove an always-new BMW and talked a good game about his practice in Hartford, and her parents always nodded politely and kept his plate full and their mouths shut.

"No, he's a good friend. You don't drop your practice in the middle of a week for a boss you had 20 years ago if you're not a good friend. He's just always been insecure around kids, especially since the divorce. And House … House is always a touchy subject."

"The divorce was 10 years ago," Elizabeth's position on Foreman was one she would always stubbornly refuse to yield. "And I'm not a kid."

"No, but he still thinks of you as _our _kid, like, mine and your father's, and that makes him a little nervous. He never wanted to have kids, but every time he sees you four he reconsiders, and then he starts thinking about his divorce, and then he starts believing he turned into the worst parts of House, and then he feels like crap and does things like tell us how much his new BMW cost."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but chose not to continue.

Claire bounced into the kitchen in sockfeet and yoga pants. She was the dark-haired sister, with a rich mahogany curtain of hair that couldn't decide whether it was brown or red. Willowy and the tallest of the three girls, she slightly resembled Allison, but her features were pointier, more chiseled, and her face was more of an oval. Elizabeth thought that when you _really _looked at Claire, she most resembled their maternal grandmother. Claire was also the sister who tended to act most impulsively and would throw herself into helping people, much like her mother. "That smells delicious," she said, trying to grab a piece of chicken from the frying pan without burning her thumb.

"Thanks. How's your AP Physics review going?" Mom asked.

"Pretty good. There's going to be a study group for the exam at Jessica's house all day on Saturday." Claire was the only Cameron-Chase sister to love science; coupled with her Allison-like tendencies and a fascination with PPTH, this meant she was already pre-med for Penn next year. She was thinking Endocrinology or Oncology, and even as they sat vigil over House Cuddy and Wilson both pelted her with the details and perks of their specialties. "I just can't believe we're on our last exam. I'm already so nervous for AP week."

Elizabeth laughed. "Have fun then. How many are you taking this year?"

"Oh, god, six: Chem, Physics, Calc-BC, Gov, Macro, and English lit."

Elizabeth winced; the most she'd ever taken (senior year) had been five, and only one was a math, and that had been Calc-AB. She was glad she was the "artistic" daughter.

The conversation drifted away from school and toward the mundanities of family life that Elizabeth had forgotten: Claire's awful new track coach, how difficult it was to rehearse her dances for her senior recital when she was always so tight from track; Sophie's unrelenting rehearsal schedule for the school's upcoming performance of _Rent_ (she was Maureen, House loved it, Mom not as much); the fact that Sophie didn't _mind _the awful new track coach; Rocco's soccer tournament in Newark that Saturday, followed by the birthday party of a teammate; Mom's late-afternoon board meeting tomorrow; a vague promise of shopping after Rocco's tournament on Saturday.

"Do you have any plans for tomorrow, Liz?" Claire asked as they finally sat down. She liberally poured Parmesan cheese over her pasta before looking at her older sister, whom she really didn't know too well any more. Elizabeth had been home briefly at Christmas, she'd spent the majority of her last summer vacation doing research in Pars; Elizabeth was simply no longer an indelible presence in their home. The age difference—a little over two years, but school cut-off dates put them three years apart in school—and the fact that the twins were always the Twins and completely intertwined meant they hadn't been particularly close as teenagers, either.

Elizabeth shrugged. "Hang out with Dad. Visit House. Catch up on some homework, visit that ice-cream place by the campus gates that sells the tomato ice cream."

"Is House _really _going to be okay this time, Mum?" Claire asked suddenly.

Allison shrugged, frustrated. "I have no idea. Realistically, probably not, not with everything he's done to himself in the past, oh, _seventy_ years."

"Do you think he'll go down to Florida with Cuddy?"

"No idea, Ceecee." Elizabeth knew their mother had been one of the people closest to that relationship's implosion, and apparently Cuddy was still ticked at House.

"I hope she does. I mean, I'll miss him, but he really needs someone to take care of him right now," Claire continued.

"Enough!" Allison's fork clanged harshly as she put it down. "I don't know what will happen with House, but no matter what happens, you _both _need to remember that what_ever_ happens, House _will be okay_. Even if we don't think he's okay, he'll be okay. So just let's wait and see, okay? Don't get ahead of yourselves. It's bad diagnostics," she chided Claire. Elizabeth noticed that her mother's tone was much edgier than it had been when she'd had a near-identical conversation with Elizabeth minutes earlier. She was obviously thinking about something.

"Sorry," Claire said, her tone borderline flippant.

They switched back to mundanities then; the table was quieter than Elizabeth remembered without half their members there. Finally Allison sighed and shoved all the food to one side of her plate. "I'm full, and I have a lot of work to catch up on. If you guys need anything I'll be in the den for the next two hours. Maybe a movie afterwards?"

Elizabeth shook her head and grinned. "Australia versus New Zealand's on at 10 o'clock. We gotta watch that."

Allison smiled and rolled her eyes. "Far be it from me to get in the way of Australia versus New Zealand. Lizzy, can you clean up? Ceecee—any questions …"

"Come to the den, got it," Claire waved her fork lazily. "Ciao."

With a very definite, but tired, smile, Allison walked upstairs. Elizabeth scraped the plates, then sat down in front of the TV, remembering why she'd always considered home life so dull.

* * *

Please review!


	3. So Let Me See You Smile Again

**Disclaimer** in Part One.

Time for a Cameron POV! Thanks for all the positive feedback, and again, keep reading and reviewing!

* * *

_The Sun Is Up, The Sky Is Blue_

_It's A Beautiful Day And So Are You_

_-- The Beatles, "Dear Prudence"_

Allison woke up naturally at two til six the next morning, the way she always did. She reached out and flipped off the alarm so it wouldn't wake Robert, but then nestled back into the crook of his shoulder anyways, lazily tracing circles on the arm he'd looped around her waist last night. The entire family, even Rocco, had stayed up until midnight to watch Australia finally pull ahead and win the football game 3-2 last night (even though she hated sports, all her children were soccer-mad like their dad), and she was still exhausted. Waking up exhausted always made her feel old.

She mentally ran through her schedule: Four miles on the treadmill; get ready; make sure kids get to school; get to hospital; see House; six patient appointments; one grant needed to be finished by Monday; lunch with her regular Friday date, Janie Benson, the hospital's CNO (they'd been friends for years now, and had a weekly gossip klatch); another three patients; the weekly M the monthly general board meeting; stop by and see House; come home; dinner; maybe a trip to the mall with Elizabeth or a movie later that night. She tried to remember what the date was, trying to remember if she had any bills or dentist's appointments she was missing.

April 9th. Shit. Today was her wedding anniversary.

Not with Robert. She knew that date by heart, October 18th, partly because 1018 was her PIN number. No, her _first _wedding anniversary. Today was 35 years.

Kissing Robert's knuckles, she slid out of his embrace, grabbed the navy-blue bathrobe from the chair and threw it over her shoulders. Very quietly, she sat cross-legged, and pulled a white fireproof box from underneath the bed. When she moved in with Robert, she'd collected the sprinkled reminders of her young marriage, kept them in one box as a physical way of saying that she was moving on. Her engagement ring from Robert scraped the side of a wooden box that always stayed next to her white one; this one contained Robert's mementos from his childhood. They both knew the other's boxes existed, knew what was in them, but didn't discuss them. Neither of them was big into psychoanalyzing the other, and Robert especially didn't like to rehash the past.

She lifted the lid, exposing a few yellowing photos in an album, an invitation, a translucent ribbon that had gone on the cake, her garter, her wedding and engagement rings, the wedding planner, photos from their courtship, engagement, wedding, marriage. She touched each of these, opened up the jewelry box and twirled the engagement ring in her fingers, noting how dulled it looked. She remembered how absolutely in love she had been; was despaired at how sad the memories now made her. She even recognized a slight twinge of guilt, because she was content (which was much harder than happy, and it was in her nature to resist both), because she and Robert could still feel fresh and in love but also had a really good partnership, because she'd had children with him, children that she adored and wouldn't trade for any what-if.

Every year, she questioned her motives more, confused by the facts and what she had known, or should have known, or thought she knew, at the time of her marriage. She could no longer remember her worldview at the time of the first wedding—was she optimistic and gung-ho about overcoming death, or did she maybe know that it was hopeless? She could no longer remember. Was she actually in love, or did she do it because she knew it had an end date? She no longer knew, and honestly doubted she'd ever known, or if it wasn't a little of both. Had she lost her faith then, or had she simply never had much? Again, unanswerable, even in hindsight. Which marriage would go down in history as her great love story: The short, desperately tragic, Shakespearean first marriage, or the ongoing saga of Cameron and Chase, that had a lot of boring moments, a lot of quiet moments, and four imperfect children? She realized, about 10 years ago, that she had spent a lot of that marriage feeling guilty because of the imperfect realism of it all, she thought she might have been slightly fatalistic in the middle and relieved at the end. But she just didn't know anymore. She twirled the ring contemplatively, letting the diamond glint off the four walls of her bedroom.

Robert awoke, suddenly, as if the bed had cooled once she'd left it and he'd notice the temperature change. They looked at each other, the ring now no longer twirling between her fingers.

"April 9th," he drawled, more to himself than her. "Right."

"Yeah," she said, staring at the ring. "I completely forgot this year. I … feel awful. The least I could have done is ordered flowers for the grave."

"It's OK," he said, coming to sit beside her, close but not quite touching. She knew he was still never comfortable discussing her youth and never quite knew what to say; similarly, she still didn't how to respond when he made a throwaway comment about his family. So she closed the distance, put her head on his shoulder. In response, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "It's been insane with House. We were at the hospital what, pretty much 38 straight hours on Tuesday and Wednesday?"

"True," she conceded, still not forgiving herself. She could order a bouquet today, have it on his grave in Evanston immediately. "I can't believe it's been 35 years. … And every year I think back and think that I was so young, and it only gets worse as the kids grow up. I mean, I was a _year_ older than Elizabeth is now." She shuddered at the thought of her eldest getting married. Elizabeth always was in a relationship, but none of them, Allison could tell, were remotely close in levels of passion that she had had with either husband. "Can you imagine Elizabeth married?"

"Absolutely not," Robert said, sifting through the photos.

"Every year, it's harder for me to believe that I actually did it. Elizabeth's age!" She shook her head.

"Well," Robert said thoughtfully, but she noticed a well-disguised smirk. "Elizabeth's pretty immature."

She laughed. "No, just way too much like you."

"Excuse me?" he smiled. "The stubbornness—that's all you."

"Okay, fine. She's a little stubborn. But mostly, no—she's you."

"Claire. Claire would do it."

"Marry someone at 21, even though he's dying?"

"_Because _he's dying, and she fell in love," he corrected gently.

She knew it was right, and simply bit her lip. "Yeah, probably Claire. Sophie's too rational in _addition _to being anal."

"But you never know about Rocco," he added.

Something in his tone made her laugh softly, and she nuzzled his neck. "God, Robert, how'd we end up with four kids?"

"The twin-thing couldn't exactly have been predicted, and then there was a lovely night with far too much wine shortly before Rocco was conceived," he said.

She laughed, and pressed her hand to his chest to push herself back to sitting. She began carefully rearranging the items into the box. "You're the best, you realize that?" she kissed his cheek.

"I have my moments," he laughed.

"Okay," she stood. "I'll go make sure the twins are up, then run, then shower for work. _You_ need more sleep."

"Believe me, I know, but not happening. I'll just go on a jog and then get Rocco to school and go to the hospital." Robert loved to go jogging—she always teased him it was because he was Australian and therefore he should be rugged and outdoorsy—whereas she preferred her treadmill.

"You know you're never going to get Elizabeth up in time to do that," she laughed and started pulling on her jogging clothes.

He shrugged. "Appeal to her soft spot for House."

She shook her head. "Yeah, she and Claire were going absolutely nuts with worry last night … They're really scared about what happens to him."

"What'd you say?"

"Wait and see. What else'm I supposed to say?"

He shrugged. "Nothing. S'what you have to say."

"Seriously though," she flopped back down on the bed. "What do you think happens to him?"

He sighed, and then grabbed her wrists to pull her up off the bed. "Let's see what Foreman and the PTs say, and then talk to Cuddy."

"What if, though?" she insisted as they checked the twins' bedroom doors for noises indicating the girls were up. "Just think for a sec. We can pretty much guess from the scans that he's going to have trouble with balance and walking. He could go with Cuddy, but then he's not near the hospital and he doesn't know _anybody_ besides Cuddy, and he does need familiar things around him because he's borderline autistic like that, and he can't stay here and live with Wilson because he has Leah and Rebecca, and he certainly can't live _alone_—"

"Enough, Al!" Robert finally said, laughing a little. "Look, we'll see what Foreman says, see what the PT says, and then after the M&M today we'll sit down with Cuddy and Wilson."

"Make it after the ridiculous board meeting," she muttered as they traipsed downstairs. She kissed him as he ran out the front door—he was probably going to run the three miles to the hospital and back—and then set an 8-minute mile pace on her treadmill, flipping on the news to watch as she ran. It wasn't the 6-minute mile she'd run in high school and college, but it was pretty damn fast. She heard the youngest three moving around, slamming bathroom doors, going back and forth between each other's rooms. As she cooled down, the twins, impeccably dressed, came down for breakfast.

"What's your guys' after-school schedule?" she asked, coming into the kitchen and wiping a towel across her face.

"Track, then a vocal rehearsal," Sophie said, yawning and pulling the ends of her light chestnut-colored hair back into a hair tie. She closely resembled Robert, same cheekbones and jawline, but did have Allison's nose and smaller forehead. "Just the first act, though, I should be done by seven. Jake and I want to go to a movie tonight, though." Jake was Sophie's boyfriend of about eight months. Robert liked him; Allison thought he was okay, but only because they would probably break up when Sophie went to Brown and he went to Drexel. "Is House OK?"

"He seems to be doing pretty well. He's out of the woods, concentrate on schoolwork today. Ceecee?" Claire had been nicknamed Ceecee years ago by Sophie because her middle name was Cathleen and "Ceecee" sounded like "Sissy," but only Sophie and Allison still used the nickname.

"Track practice, then Marissa and I are going to do yoga. After dinner I'm free though." Allison nodded. The girls finished gulping down their toast and headed out the door; classes started at 7:40 but they always tried to get to the school by seven so they could sit with their friends and go over math assignments. She made sure Rocco was awake; his bus to the middle school came at 7:25. She jumped in the shower; when she got out she heard the familiar sounds of Robert cajoling Elizabeth up.

"That girl is a sounder sleeper than you were before we had kids," Robert announced, coming into the bathroom as she was washing her face and moisturizing.

"How was your run?"

"Good. Hospital and back," he confirmed, and she smiled because she knew him so well. He stripped and jumped into the shower. Padding downstairs in her bathrobe for a cup of coffee, she saw Elizabeth and laughed. Elizabeth had the coffeepot in one hand and a mug in the other, and she was methodically drinking a cup of coffee, immediately refilling it, and drinking the next one.

"How can you drink it straight, and how many cups have you had? Also, hand it over."

Elizabeth threw her a loathsome look, shoved the pot at her, and mumbled, "Not telling. You realize I don't wake up till 10 on a _normal _day?"

"Hey, I offered you the chance to go back to school. Now you get to hang out with your family, mooch some new clothes from me tomorrow, and chill with House."

She rolled her eyes. "All of which could be accomplished after the perfectly sane hour of 10 a.m."

Allison rolled her eyes right back. While she'd hoped all her kids went into medicine, Elizabeth definitely was not cut out for it. "Welcome to the real world," she replied, heading upstairs to finish getting ready.

Robert managed to get Rocco onto the bus, and they both received text messages from Foreman saying that he was examining House. She finished getting ready and headed back down to the kitchen, where Robert was reviewing paperwork and gulping down coffee. He really needed to sleep more.

"Alright, I'm headed in," she announced, taking one last swig from her coffee cup. "When do you think you'll swing by?"

"Whenever Lizzy gets ready we'll go in and see House really quick, see if I can maybe get him moved out of the ICU, and then we'll go out for the day, maybe a lunch down at Mediterra, then we'll be back for the M&M," he said. "You wanted to meet with Wilson and Cuddy after the board meeting?"

"Yeah," she said. "Do you think you and Liz could swing by Wegman's? There's a list on the fridge."

"No prob," he said, kissing her cheek. "See you in a bit."

She smiled at the easy domesticity she'd spent years fighting, and headed into work.


	4. The House Just Won't Come Down

**Disclaimer **in part one.

Time for a Foreman POV!

* * *

_We Tried to Hide From Failure_

_The Weather_

_We Said We'd Never Fight_

_Moon And Sun_

_What's Done Is Done_

_--Gomez "Mooon and Sun" _

Like Cameron, Foreman didn't need an alarm to wake him at 5:30. The unfamiliar bed and surroundings, coupled with his internal clock, did that for him.

The room PPTH had sprung on for him was very large, in a hotel where parents of the wealthiest Princeton students—the sort that had buildings named after great-grandfathers—stayed. Foreman knew the room, as well as his consultation and generous meal allowance, had been because Daniel Hartmann, who had replaced Cuddy as dean of medicine, was scared of both Chase and Cameron. Both of them had been offered the position, and they had both turned it down, preferring to remain practicing specialists and more available for their children (they also, Foreman knew, didn't want to be put in the position where one of them was the other's superior, figuring it wouldn't work as well as it had with Cuddy and House—and _that_ hadn't worked very well). Together, though, the two of them had cases and friends in nearly every department—Cameron worked closely with anyone doing any type of research, and spent heavy time with peds, oncology, pathology, any department that saw an infection, ever, and as head of the clinical departments had could access any patient who had regular and long-term contact with PPTH; Chase could scrub in on any surgery he wanted for the hell of it, solved the high-profile diagnostic cases, and had a vested interest in every short-term patient in the hospital. Everyone at PPTH was a little in awe of them, even liked them; Foreman had literally heard whispers about them in the cafeteria. It was why both of them had nearly unlimited budgets and salaries that even impressed Foreman, himself the head of the Neurology department at Hartford -St. Mary's (the third-largest neurology department in New England).

He checked his cell phone to see if Aisworth, the doctor he had covering his patients, had called, which he had not. There was a text message from Wilson, however, that simply read _House asleep. Cuddy and I going home to get Zs_. It had been sent barely an hour ago.

He went down to the hotel gym and lifted weights before returning, showering, and calling Aisworth before Aisworth headed into the office. Aisworth's wife was not pleased, because they had a sleeping baby _and _because he called her Jess instead of Jen. Still, they had a good conversation before he decided it was late enough to go wake House and do his neurological exam. With any luck, he could take the train home tonight, then. He didn't like staying around PPTH for too long; it made him nervous.

He scanned House's file on his cab ride in, still feeling a thrill of nerves and fear at being privy to House's medical history. It was a thick file; House's insane not-suicidal suicide attempts assured that. He inspected each heart attack, each stroke, each surgery, the infarction. He looked at the familiar signatures scrawled on the forms: House's, Cuddy's, and Stacy Warner's on consent forms; Cuddy's, Wilson's, Chase's, Cameron's, even his on procedure forms. He looked at the battery of tests Chase had ordered when he'd initially collapsed: CT of the head and then the blood vessels, ultrasound, MRI, angiograms, ECGs, EEGs, blood tests, IVUS, liver-function tests, kidney-function tests. He traced the path of Chase's diagnosis, saw Cameron's fingerprints all over some of the diseases checked for in the blood. He had arrived late Tuesday night, had therefore only had these tests to go on since then. Running _his_ tests would be good. Chase was good but he was no neurologist.

He sent a mass text to Chase, Cameron, Wilson, and Cuddy, saying that he was about to examine House. Chase texted back immediately, saying that one of his diagnostic fellows was an interventional radiologist and always pulled early-morning hours in the Clinic on Friday because he always forgot to fill his weekly quota. Name was Haxby and would be helpful and grateful to get pulled from the Clinic.

He tipped the cabbie generously, mentally making a note to include it in his reimbursements. He strolled into PPTH feeling absolutely confident and knowing that his grey suit looked great. He wandered over to the empty clinic, mostly filled at this hour with patients who were avoiding going into work.

"I'm looking for Dr. Haxby," he smiled to the receptionist. "I need him for a consult."

Haxby was tall and dark-haired, the sort of television-drama doctor who, if he had even just an ounce of charm, could get any patient to sign a consent form and any administrator to okay a test. "Hi, can I help you?"

"My name's Dr. Foreman, I was called down on a consult by Drs. Chase and Cameron for Dr. House. We were all diagnostic fellows together, back in the day."

"Oh, yeah, I've heard stories. 'S nice to meet you," he smiled broadly. Good teeth. He seemed like the type of doctor Chase would pick.

"Yeah, it's great. Anyways, I'm going to run a few tests on him this morning and I'd appreciate some assistance. Mind giving me a hand? I know that House is kind of cantankerous, especially when he's in a subordinate position like the patient, so it's totally fine if you don't want to."

"Nah, it's House. He's tough but he's not impossible. I'm up for it."

They started walking toward the elevators. "So you hate Clinic that much, huh?" Foreman asked.

He laughed. "It's not the best, but if you come this early in the morning there's hardly anyone, and you have the all-clear to not work."

"How long you been a fellow?"

"Only a couple of months. Just completed my residency, Johns Hopkins."

"Oh, really? I went to med school there." They chatted for a few minutes about Baltimore and the quality of the education, and then reached House's room.

House was sleeping, somewhat peacefully, and Foreman wished he had a cane he could rap on the table, like House did, for a dramatic entrance. He settled for turning the lights on high and shaking his shoulder.

"What?" he said irritably. "Oh, look, you came back to your old massah."

"Nice to see you, too," Foreman said. "I'm assuming you know Dr. Haxby. Count back from 100 by 7's."

"_Ein hundert, dreiundneunzig, sechsundachtzig, neunund—"_

"Got it, you can count _and _still speak German," Foreman said.

"Oh, that was German? No idea."

"Follow the light with your eyes."

"I thought I _wasn't_ supposed to follow the light right now?" House retorted, flicking his pupils back and forth.

"Where were you born?"

"Stable in Bethlehem."

"Why'd you hire me?"

"Your homies in the hood."

"Chase? Cameron?"

"Hair. Both of them."

"Try to smile."

House frowned. "Going to tell me to turn that frown upside down?"

"Yes." House grinned, baring all his teeth. Foreman noticed a slight lag on his left side.

He quizzed him more on years and dates, getting sarcastic non-answers that told Foreman mental capacity probably hadn't been diminished in any significant way. Foreman tested House's muscles by making him push Foreman's hands up, down, and forward. He made House close his eyes to check for arm drift. He popped his cheeks, checked his eyelids, had House hold one leg three inches off the bed for a few seconds to see if any tremors developed. Foreman tried to make his own face absolutely inscrutable. He had House tap his palms with his index fingers, write his name (he wrote "Belligerent Asshole," though his handwriting was much worse than normal and he had lots of problems grasping the pen), had him clench and unclench his fist, tested two-point discrimination, then quizzed House some more. Finally, he had to do the inevitable.

"Alright, House, let's check your gait and do the Romberg tests," he said, knowing it wouldn't go over well at all.

House shook his head. "CT first. I want to make sure everything's clear." His voice left no room for argument.

"Fine. Let me check your feet for function first, though."

There was some loss of sensation in both hands and feet, especially feet, and then they wheeled him in for a CT. The images came back mostly normal, though there was still some swelling and the area near where the stroke had occurred looked like it would be permanently damaged. Haxby flicked through the shots several times, checking and double-checking carefully. "No residual clotting … blood flow looks good."

"Any damage from the fall? The ischemia? The swelling's still there," Foreman said.

"The bleed area is totally normal, but there seems to be a little damage from the ischemia, and the ischemia could explain the swelling that's still there."

"_Still _presents abnormally."

Haxby flicked through the images again, knowing what Foreman was looking for. "There's no bleed. There's no _evidence_ there was a bleed."

"Looks good, House," Foreman said via the microphone. "I want to check your gait and the Romberg tests when we get back." He sighed as he released the mic. "This isn't going to be pretty."

It wasn't. House completely failed the Romberg test, which test for balance, and the lack of nerve connectedness Foreman had already found in his foot went halfway up his legs. Even when sitting upright House's legs shook; walking, his bad leg was completely useless, and his good one wasn't much better. House scowled and didn't say anything. As Foreman and Haxby were sliding him back into bed Foreman noticed a piece of paper torn from a day-planner that read _Update! AC-C _in Cameron's girly scrawl. He dismissed Haxby and was paging Cameron when Chase and the couple's oldest daughter, Elizabeth, came in.

He still did a double-take whenever he saw one of Chase and Cameron's kids; he couldn't help it. Working with the two of them had a very definite rhythm, one that had been preserved through the courtship, marriage, and four children. The children were anachronisms, reminded him that he wasn't House's fellow; now, he didn't even work (nor did he want to work) at PPTH. He never wanted children, never had the urge to see his eyes on someone else or to teach a son how to throw a football, but it was still sometimes shocking to see the ways in which their children echoed themselves. Often, when speaking to one of the kids, their images slip in his mind's eye, blending with ingrained images of their parents. It stymied him how facial features, body languages, sentence phrasing, and even Chase and Cameron's laughs blended and overlapped and reemerged in strange ways. It had been especially unsettling, for instance, when a four-year-old Sophie would give him Chase's dumb-puppy look, or Claire shot him Cameron's crossest, crankiest glare. And now, as almost-adults, they were even more like their parents, were even more jarring to see and to speak to.

"Hey House, how's it going?" Chase said, stepping to read the vitals. "Hey, Foreman. Where are Cuddy and Wilson?"

"They went back to Wilson's place to sleep. I got a text at about four in the morning saying they were taking off."

"They're old now. They can't hack the chairs," House mumbled.

"How's it going, House?" Elizabeth asked, standing by his bed. She looked at his monitors, trying to glean information. Foreman had never understood House's relationship with the Cameron-Chase children, and he especially didn't understand why Elizabeth, who had never showed any aptitude or interest in medicine, was trying to read charts.

"What, you think by _staring _at them it's like what would happen if you went to medical school?" House asked, and Foreman chuckled.

"I think that, as an English major and avid watcher of medical dramas, I can figure out what _BP _stands for," she shot back.

"How's he doing?" Chase said in a low voice. "I'd like to move him off ICU today."

Foreman nodded. "He should be able to do that. Neurological signs were … okay."

"I know exactly what my neurological signs were, you can talk about it in front of me," House shouted. "I did train you, you know. If that means anything these days."

Foreman sighed. "Some spasms. Trouble with both walking and balance. Nerve trouble in the legs and arms, especially legs, including tremors. Some disgraphia, trouble with fine motor skills like making a balled fist. Small facial problems. No neuropathic pain, though, but that might be because of the massive amounts of Vicodin he still has in his system."

"Hey, got your page. What's up?" Cameron came into the room.

"Good news and so-so news. We're going to move him out of the ICU. But there's some nerve trouble, some fine-motor skills trouble, and trouble walking and balancing. CT was … clean," Chase read the last part from Foreman's notes before handing it to Cameron.

"The thing that still confuses me, though," Chase said, grasping the rails at the foot of the bed. "is why the clot and the stenosis formed in the first place. The statins and the liver failure should have ensured that his blood wasn't clotting. We should have had a bleed. Instead, we have atherosclerosis, when the blood pressure is not off-the-charts, and has been under treatment for a while."

"The liver failure's explained by the _years _of substance abuse," Cameron threw House a look. "And he's had atherosclerosis for a while, since before the infarction."

"Yes, but look at the pattern, it's nearly all abdominal. There's not a lot of buildup in his brain, or even his heart. I mean, his dad had it, but still … this seems worse. Your blood pressure has shot up over the past few months, and the statins and ACE inhibitors should have been controlling the clotting, so basically they're disguising the problem. It could be something like fibromuscular dysplasia."

"It would have appeared before his 50th birthday," Foreman objected.

"_Unless_," Chase said, "the statins that he's been on since he was 37 delayed the onset, because it was already being treated. Now it's simply gotten worse, because the substance abuse and the disease have finally overtaken the treatment."

"And that could be why there's a lot of buildup in the kidneys, liver, and carotid, but not brain or heart. Though the pills and alcohol still degraded function," Cameron said, working it out.

"I'll have Haxby do an angiography; if it's fibromuscular displaysia that explains a lot," Chase said.

"Still doesn't explain why he went into a coma for two minutes of ischemia," Foreman pointed out.

"It's _unusual _in embolic strokes, not impossible. There's some necrotic tissue around the area, it hit low in his cerebellum, near his brain stem. The right angle on the fall could've caused it as well," Cameron said.

"Aren't differentials _fun_?" House interjected.

"I think we should put stents in his hepatic artery," Chase said, flicking through the charts, if only for something to do. "Possibly carotid and renal as well. You like it?" He turned to House, who nodded. "Alright," Chase said. "I'm ordering the tests and moving you, and getting a PT and an OT to come visit, and then I'll be reachable by pager for the rest of the day." He turned to the others. "Al, can you get a hold of Wilson and Cuddy to have them meet us after your board meeting? And talk to the PT and the OT once they get done with their assessments?" Foreman noted the use of 'Al,' a term of endearment he'd heard used fewer than a dozen times.

"Yeah, no prob," she said.

Chase looked like he was about to say something else to his _wife—_it was amazing how clearly they were able to delineate home and hospital most of the time, and how obviously in this moment they were a couple and not a couple of doctors—but just shook his head quickly and returned to doctor-mode. "Foreman, I'd really appreciate it if you stayed around till we have this meeting so you can really go in-depth about the neurological symptoms and how long recovery will take. We need to go over everything as a group, figure out what steps to take next."

"When's the meeting?" He was a little affronted by Chase's diplomatic tone, as if Chase was in charge. Which, technically, he was.

"We're meeting as soon as I'm out of the board meeting," Cameron said. "It should be about six."

Foreman sighed, and Chase interjected, "If you want, we can take you right to the train station afterwards."

"Nah, I'll stay through tomorrow morning," he said. "It's not like I'm paying," he grinned. He could leave tomorrow, kill time today at a movie or reading patient referrals.

"Great. Ready to go, Lizzy? I'm just turning in these forms."

"Yeah," she said, getting up. "All set for our exciting day of grocery shopping."

"You're getting lunch at Mediterra out of that grocery shopping," her mother reminded her.

"I know. Besides, I love Wegman's. We don't have them in the City." She honestly seemed to be telling the truth.

"Let's get going then," Chase said, leading her out. Cameron got a page, muttered, "crap," and dashed out herself.

"See you later Foreman," Elizabeth called as they all walked off in their respective directions.

Let me know what you think!


	5. Just Groove the Day Away

**Disclaimer** in part one.

Another Elizabeth POV. I don't know why, but she's really grown on me. I like to use her to explore sort of how traits from both her parents echoed through the generations, as well as to get her perspective on Chase and Cameron, which would be entirely different than how characters currently view the two of them, because she's their child. These family dynamics, as well as on sort of the ways the "next generation" takes after their parents (which has been touched on by Cameron/Chase, Foreman and House already) are going to be explored more fully in coming chapters, and I'd really love to know how I'm doing on this. More on the other three kids, as well as from Cuddy, Wilson, Chase, and House, is coming soon, too.

The restaurants mentioned (besides the bar) are all real and highly recommended, even the tomato ice cream mentioned in chapter two. :)

Please review and let me know what you think. It's incredibly helpful and gratifying. Cookies if you catch the meaning behind Elizabeth's middle name. Love!

* * *

Elizabeth

_Maybe It's Too Soon To Be Sure_

_But Some Day I Really Think We're Gonna Have It All_

_--Jeremy Kay "Have It All" _

Staring at her father in one of his usual bizarre sweaters (an awful combination of mustard yellow and hunter green that looked like it had gotten in a fight with the knitting machine) as they were preparing to head into the hospital, Elizabeth thought that her day with dad would be awful.

However, as they headed back at the end of the day, she realized that it had actually been pretty good: grocery shopping, lunch at her favorite restaurant in Princeton, trip to the humane society so she could stare at the puppies her parents refused to have in the house, a matinee. She'd always adored her father; he was subtly funny and not embarrassing, usually was kind and patient, would let her steer the conversation, had a knack at reading her mood. She hadn't seen nearly enough of him in the last three years, and doubted, really, that she'd ever again see "enough" of her parents.

"You cool hanging here while I go to the M&M? _Promise _we'll hit the ice-cream shop while your mum's in the board meeting," he said anxiously.

"Dad, I'm fine," she laughed. "You _have _to go, half these patients are yours. I'll do homework in your office, or go visit House." He gave her a peck on the cheek and quickly ran toward the stairs to get to the second-floor conference room.

She was crossing the nurses' station when she heard someone yell, "Elizabeth Andrea Cameron-Chase!" She turned to see Leah Wilson striding across the hallway, her four-year-old daughter, Rebecca, hanging on her side.

"Leah, hey," she said. She genuinely liked Leah Wilson. For half her life, she'd assumed Wilson was a committed bachelor, like House (they _were _always together) who refused to marry Cuddy, but when she was 10 she'd overheard her parents talk about how Wilson hadn't been on a serious date in almost 8 years, and they were getting worried. She'd worked it out of them that Wilson was actually a four-time divorcee, and had also once been in a relationship with a woman House despised, but then accidentally killed (Her mother had insisted that House didn't _actually _accidentally kill her, but Dad had rebutted that both House and Wilson considered Amber's death House's fault). He'd married once since that relationship, but it had ended quickly and badly when Elizabeth was 2, and he had "lived like a monk" since then, according to Mom, who wanted to set Wilson up (Dad was vehemently against the plan).

Mom had persisted in trying to get Wilson out and dating, and while he hadn't taken her up on any of her suggestions, he did meet Leah, the hospital's PR director. She was twenty years younger than Wilson, had already been divorced twice, and was absolutely not interested in him. Something turned her, though, and she asked him out. They'd dated for a while and then married when Elizabeth was 15, and Mom had been one of the few to think it would work out. She thought Leah was smart and capable, had her own life outside Wilson, and wasn't scared by House but also wasn't too much like House, which had been a problem once before. A little over a year later, much to everyone's surprise, Rebecca arrived, sneaking in a few days before Wilson's 60th birthday (House and Elizabeth had both made a lot of Pablo Picasso jokes, though House's were much cruder). Elizabeth adored the little girl, who had massive brown eyes, soft auburn curls, and usually the sweetest disposition imaginable.

"Hello, gorgeous, how was your day with your dad?"

"Oh, we had a lot of fun. How are you? How are you, Rebecca?"

"I'm good," Rebecca said. "I colored in daycare today." She tucked her head into the crook of her mother's shoulder and closed her eyes.

"She's so great, Leah," Elizabeth smiled.

Leah tilted her head in an 'aw, shucks' way before pulling a face. "This sounds so opportunistic after you complemented my beautiful child, but could you watch her for a few minutes? Like half an hour? I thought I'd be done at three today, so I only booked day care for that long, but I have a lot more work to do and there's this absolute disaster with an advertorial company, and she's kind of cranky so she's really not in the mood to color quietly in Mommy's office, and I was just going to take her back to daycare and beg but then I saw you and—"

"Not a prob," Elizabeth interrupted. "Hand that beautiful girl over to me."

"Thank you _so_ much," Leah said gratefully. "I will pay you, don't worry."

"Not a prob. Do you know what room House was moved to? Dad took him off the ICU."

"Yeah, 5033." Leah said. "Thanks so much, Elizabeth!" she dashed off, heels clattering.

Rebecca was pretty much dead weight, and Elizabeth had a hell of a time maneuvering the kid upstairs. She tried to put her down once or twice, but she just cried and said, "No! Please!" in an irresistible, pitiful voice.

"Okay, okay," Elizabeth muttered, trying for soothing but probably hitting annoyed. Still, Rebecca burrowed her head deeper into Elizabeth's shoulder.

She finally, slowly, made her way to House's room, and was immediately surprised to see a be-suited, dark-haired male doctor calmly taking House's vitals as House snoozed. The male doctor was McDreamyish, and she wondered why she'd never seen him before.

"I'd be careful standing so close to this patient," she said, announcing her presence. "He bites." She was finally able to dump the sleepy-but-still-awake Rebecca in a chair.

"As long as you don't take the bait you don't get eaten," he said, smiling merrily. Great smile. "You must be Elizabeth."

"And you must be a Diagnostic fellow under the incomparable Dr. Chase," she smirked. She thought about what she knew, and her grin broadened. "Luke Haxby, in fact."

"You're good," he smiled. "Do I want to ask how you knew?"

"You're not scared of House. Well, you are, obviously, but not as scared as most doctors here. That means you're in Diagnostics, because your respect for him outweighs the terror and the irritation at his lack of all social norms."

"How do you know I'm scared of him?"

"You waited till he was asleep to take the vitals," she replied.

"Point taken," he laughed. "Continue."

"Second, you knew who I was. The only visitors House would have would be my family, and Cuddy and Wilson, so that narrows it down considerably. You work for my dad, so you're curious, so even if he and my mom don't talk about us in front of staffs, you still know we exist. My dad has those awful photos of me up from high school and our holiday picture in a frame. So you know what I look like. You've also probably met both my sisters, because they have a penchant to stop in and ask Dad for money when they're broke and want to go to a movie. They're probably in at _least _once a week. So I was a pretty easy leftover guess. And it probably helped that I was carrying Rebecca Wilson. So that's how you figured me out, which led me to figure you out."

"How'd you make the leap from one of your dad's fellows to me?"

"You weren't at my family's Christmas party. The others were. So you're New Guy."

"You know, with diagnostic skills like that, I can't believe you're not going into the family business."

"Shh, don't let him here that. He'll just use it to pester me until I repeat all four years of undergrad and then go to med school and then become some sort of minor royal in his whole I'm-the-King-of-Diagnostics fantasy. Which he _totally _has," she laughed. "No, it's much better for me to run as far away as possible."

"Too bad, we could use you," he teased.

"Pretty sure your boss has my cell phone number if you ever need assistance in a differential. Or, you know, for anything else," she smiled cockily.

"Who-ho-hoa," House called from the bed. "Stroked cripple hooked up to a catheter _trying _to get some rest here. And cranky impatient impressionable toddler in chair. And also, I don't care if she's hot and you can see the bra, she's 20. And your boss's daughter. Do you _see _some holes in your logic here?" House snarked from the bed.

They jumped apart—Elizabeth hadn't noticed how close they were getting—and Elizabeth coolly said, "House, he can up your morphine if you just shut up and go back to sleep. And, again, pointing out _my _bra is pedophilic."

"I changed your diapers," he said.

"You absolutely did not. How much more morphine do you want? We can cut a deal here," she offered impatiently. Luke laughed, and she smiled. "Seriously. Up his morphine. It's a win-win. He gets high, he gets funny, but he'll probably shut up."

"Still can hear you."

"_Or _we could stick you on a sedative and then you won't be awake when my parents and Cuddy and Wilson decide what to do to you next," she said cheerily.

"Lizza, _I want ice cream_," Rebecca said in a voice that sounded dangerously close to tears.

She made a snap decision. "Well, Becca bear, we're just going to have to go to the cafeteria."

"Carry me," she insisted, holding up her arms.

"I'll take you to the elevator, you walk in the cafeteria." She was not going to carry that child any farther than she had to.

"Fi-ine," she said.

Elizabeth turned to Luke. "Listen, I need to take her. Sorry about him being him," she smiled.

"Let House be House. It's kind of the reason this hospital hasn't exploded." She smirked at his all-knowing tone, which she found a little premature, especially because she'd been around the hospital for two decades longer than he.

"Ain't that the truth," she mumbled. "Anyways, I'm just in town for the weekend, but do you want to get a drink with me tonight?"

He seemed to consider something, and then threw it away. "Yeah, sure. Nine good?"

"Can we make it ten?" she smiled. "The Boar's Head? Do you know that one?" It was a Princeton institution, and they wouldn't card her. Not turning 21 until the start of her senior year was immensely annoying.

"Yeah. I'll meet you there, then. Ten," he smiled.

"Great," she returned his grin. "See you then. And House," she faced him again, "keep your mouth shut. I'll find something specific to blackmail you with later." With that, she picked up Rebecca and slowly swayed to the cafeteria.


	6. Well How Can We Ask For More

**Disclaimers **in part one.

* * *

_And Why Do You Sing Hallelujah_

_If It Means Nothing To You_

_Why Do You Sing To Me At All?_

_--Damien Rice "Delicate"_

Lisa knew it was pretty cowardly, but she couldn't be in the hospital. She couldn't be around House, because that was painful and awkward, and she couldn't be in the hospital, because then she felt useless and like everyone was gossiping about her. Without the pretense of being everyone's boss, she was stripped of an armor she didn't know she'd worn; she was there simply as the ex-girlfriend (stupid term, she qualified for Medicare) of the asshole doctor/consultant. So she spent most of the day in a coffee shop near James and Leah's working on the textbook she was writing.

Her relationship with House over the past two decades could best be described as companionate. They were both entering the home stretch of life, with maybe the most interesting stuff behind them. She wasn't going to have a child and she'd accepted that. He didn't want children, was content to play badass uncle to his former employees' kids. The relationship had been a bit light on commitment and they'd both maintained incredibly independent lives, necessary because she was dead set on keeping her job as his boss. They'd never lived together; they never drove into work together. He still came to browbeat her so he could perform unusual, unsafe procedures on patients, and he still ate lunch with Wilson every day. She still went to meetings and charmed benefactors; they never went together to fundraisers or events. Hell, she was lucky if she could get him to go to one of those per year.

So they had been friends, and lovers, but never really a couple. She'd figured that would come later, when they retired, and she'd planned accordingly. But when House announced that he _liked _Princeton and warm weather sucked and retiring was fine, but why move? she couldn't believe it. James had tried to work on him, but he struck out. And even her ultimatums had done nothing. He wanted to stay. She realized that she had fallen in love but he had only fallen into a pattern. She'd left for Naples and didn't answer his calls.

Cameron's call, though—that had been out of the blue. She'd called the airport from the taxi and demanded the next flight to Newark. James had picked her up seven hours later, his hair mussed and his eyes ragged. He explained that it was _just_ a stroke, _but _he'd hit his head, was in a coma. She'd stayed by his bed, in his room, for the next two days. And now he was awake, and recovering, and she had no idea what to do or say.

James called her shortly after six, his voice concerned and soft, the perfect pitch for an oncologist. "Hey, where are you? Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine. I needed to get away and write so I went to that coffee shop I saw by your place."

"House said you hadn't been in all day." His voice was so neutral he was practically speaking Swiss (was there a Swiss language? She should ask House).

She sighed. "I have a lot to write."

"Right," he said, but his tone wasn't accusatory. "Well, Cameron is done with her board meeting, and Chase and Foreman just got here, do you want to take a break and we can talk moving forward and treatment? House has heard it all from the PT and from Foreman, so we're going to meet in Chase's office to discuss the results."

"Yeah. Give me five minutes. I'll be right in," she hit the red button on her phone and sat for a moment before reluctantly packing up her laptop.

The drive to PPTH was short and familiar, and she spent several seconds making sure her makeup was perfect before going in. It might not be her domain anymore, but she sure as hell was going to look like the queen.

Of course, she ran into Daniel Hartmann on her way in. Hartmann was good, having been brought in from Penn, but he was still nervous and uncertain in his role, and somehow thought that she being in Princeton meant she wanted her old job back. "Lisa," he said, smiling warmly. "How's our favorite patient?"

She raised her brows a millimeter at his choice of words, then replied, "He's recuperating nicely. He'll be back terrorizing the Diagnostics team in no time, I'm sure."

"I trust that the staff has been very accommodating toward you?"

She smiled. "I'm not asking for any special treatment. I'm here as a visitor of an employee and a guest of Drs. Chase and Cameron." Probably not wise to mention those two, come to think of it. Wilson had said Hartmann was scared of both of them. She'd never known someone with an ego big enough to run a hospital that could have such insecurity issues about two of his employees. Especially when one was Cameron.

He cocked his head and broadened his smile. "Our staff should still be trying to make your time here pleasant."

She dropped the façade. "Dr. Hartmann, you know as well as I do, and in fact most of the staff here knows as well, that my return for this reason wouldn't be pleasant and it really doesn't matter whether the nurses are sweet to me or not," she smiled again. "Now, if you'll excuse me I really must be going."

"Of course," he smiled graciously, and left. She shook her head and quickly made her way up to Chase's office.

Chase's office was still on the fourth floor, but it was larger: he had his office, flanked by two conference rooms, one for each of his teams. One room was dark; two guys remained in the second one.

"Hey, all, sorry I'm late," she said, striding in. The other four doctors were already there. Chase, who had been spread over two chairs, stood, as did Cameron, who had been twirling in the desk chair. Cuddy shook her head for a second, seeing their fellowship-ghosts again. She did that, from time to time, especially when all three of House's first fellows were together, most likely because she still couldn't believe all three of them pulled it together and became decent grown-ups. Especially the whole Cameron-Chase family thing. If pressed, she had to admit she was a little jealous of their functionality and conventionality. Or at least the fact they had someone to cancel out their own quirks and make each other appear functional. "What do we got?"

The Three Musketeers exchanged looks before Foreman started. "There's a lot of peripheral neurological damage, but luckily nothing to his CNS. There's a lot of loss of perception and strength in his legs, which is only compounded by the old infarction injury. He can't walk, he won't be able to for a while. There's a droop on his left side and some arm drift, and he did lose some perception in his arm; he can't make a fist and he has trouble with pushing palms in every direction. Still, considering that he fell and caused a subdural bleed. … It could be much, much worse."

"We also got the results of his angiography, and it's likely fibromuscular dysplasia that's caused the appearance of atherosclerosis," Chase picked up.

"Isn't that genetic?"

"Yes, but it's also misdiagnosed a lot. And he still has buildup around his heart and other veins and arteries, which could be either, really. Treatment's close enough to being the same that I can't squabble right now. I'm hesitant to put a stent in his kidney, because it threw the clot, but I want to put one in his carotid and in his hepatic. I'm going to give him the option of a stent in his kidneys, though. He should at least have the option.

"Now, we run into problems because his drugs start mixing. The ACE inhibitors that his idiot cardiologist has been prescribing on a regular basis helped treat the fibromuscular dysplasia but it also probably contributed to the kidney damage itself. But the ACE inhibitors help everything else, so basically he just needs monitored really, really closely and that's the best we can do with that. But we're putting those two, maybe three, stents in tomorrow via angioplasty. I would actually bet on three going in, knowing House. And if we can get that renal artery open more we can probably keep him off dialysis for a few more years. Barring surgical complications, he should be okay in a few days. I'd say he could go home then."

"I talked to the PT and the OT today. House's stroke was mild, and he should, within about three to six months, regain most of the mobility and function that he lost," Cameron said. "The wild card is his legs, but they can control the tremors, build the strength, and see. His hands should be fine, though he is never, ever allowed to do a lumbar puncture on me. The problem is he's going to need help, a lot of it, with daily functions at first. And he has two problems here: One, he's House, so he's going to be hellish and irritable and uncooperative. Two, he lives alone, so there's nobody to be there, which is especially important in case of a fall," Cameron's gaze flicked between the three men but carefully avoided Cuddy. "And I doubt he'll suffer a home-health nurse well. A facility is absolutely out of the question, too."

"So basically he needs to stay with somebody," James, exercising his penchant for stating the obvious, wiped a hand across his face.

All three of the not-as-old physicians nodded apologetically.

"No," Lisa said quickly, unexpectedly. She felt hot, agitated, she crossed her arms more tightly. She could see where this was going: James had a preschooler, Cameron and Chase had three teenagers, Foreman lived in Connecticut. While at least half of the dozen fellows still around lived in New Jersey, none were close.

"What do you mean, no? Yes, he does need help in some capacity." Cameron sounded annoyed, and protective.

"No, I mean—no, I can't help him. I can't do it. We should hire a home-health nurse, and a physical therapist's assistant, or something. I'm done. I can't do it," she hated her pleading tone. "I gotta go," she stalked out, and straight downstairs, to see House, finally, for herself. She wanted to yell.

Of course, Elizabeth Cameron-Chase was already in the room, sitting crosslegged at the foot of House's bed. Cuddy fought down a surge of annoyance. "Hey, Elizabeth."

The girl was perceptive; she had to give her that. "Hey, Dr. Cuddy. I was just going. I need to find my brother; he was supposed to come here right after his soccer practice." She practically ran out.

Lisa suddenly felt speechless, she began tracing patterns on the plastic frame of the bed. "Finally, you deign to visit. Couldn't resist a cripple with a stroke, could you?"

"I'm not the woman who used to love you who craved terminal patients," she retorted, and then immediately regretted it. Nobody had mentioned Cameron's crush on House in years; it was past being ancient history. Plus, Cameron was still crazy about the obviously not-currently-dying Chase. It was an unfair joke.

"No, you're just the one who was disappointed that I didn't change." His blue eyes pierced her; she'd forgotten how strong his gaze could be.

She dropped her eyes lids, continued staring at the bed. "I'm sorry you had a stroke."

"Why? Why are you sorry? How did you cause this? How is this in _any _way Lisa Cuddy's fault? At least when my leg died you had a hand in that."

"It's an expression of sympathy for your plight," she snapped back, stung he'd bring the leg back up. "_Not _that I should be the one apologizing for anything."

"Oh, and I should be?" he snapped back.

"It would be a nice start!" she finally yelled. She'd wanted to yell for weeks about this. "It would be a start!"

"I never misled you," he argued. "You've known me since you were _twenty_. Why would you expect anything else?"

"Because you're not that selfish," she said. "You try to be and you claim to be but you're _not_. You're also not as resistant to change as you and Wilson like to say you are, so yes, I thought that when we retired _together_ it meant we would _actually_ retire together and not just quit our jobs at the same time!"

"We did retire together, quit _whining_ because I didn't want to move to Florida."

"You didn't retire, not really. You still come in four days a week, you still yell at nurses, you let Chase run the Diagnostics teams but you're always in the corner saying _I know something you don't know_! You can't let go, and making it about _me _isn't going to work," she said. "I get that you're not going to say I love you every morning and I get that you don't send flowers on Valentine's Day, but for god's sake just _give _a little of yourself when it matters. I didn't ask _you _to change, I asked you to simply retire! I gave you _eighteen months _to let your precious baby go! _And_ anyways, what's this all about 'not changing' and 'not expecting.' What were _you _expecting? I'm a Jewish doctor, of _course _I'm going to retire to Florida."

He judged her warily, one eyebrow raised. "So when's your flight back?"

She frowned and looked down. Caught, she said, "Tomorrow. You're out of the woods. You don't need me here. You may want me here, but I don't know that, and lord knows I can't be here," she could finally look him straight in the eye. "You're going to have a long recovery, a lot of PT, a lot of OT. But you'll be fine. I want you to come join me in Florida. If you want to, though."

His was impassive. "You could move back here. I … miss you," his features softened, and she stepped back.

"I can't, no. I retired. I want a beach, and no winters, and to _relax._ I don't want to be by the hospital."

"And you don't want to be by me?" He cocked his head to the side, and she was caught off-guard by his emotionally charged question. Of course, he was probably manipulating her.

"I do. I … _do. _I just don't want to share you with the hospital any more. I don't care about your leg, I don't care about your stroke, I don't even care about the pills and the booze. I do care that you're still here. I care too much. Both of us—there's no telling how many good years we have left. Why waste them here?" She hated ultimatums, found them melodramatic and often unnecessary, but she didn't know what to do.

His face didn't change. She looked down.

"I'm not _wasting_ anything," he said.

"Fine," she said. "But I would be." She looked down at the bedsheets again. "Goodbye, House." Turning, she walked quickly out the door, letting it slide with a permanent-sounding _thunk _behind her.

Please review!


	7. Time Makes You Bolder

**Disclaimer **in part one

So this is definitely the longest chapter I've written and hopefully it will stay that way. I had a lot of ground to cover from Chase's POV. I never want to cut dialogue, either, because I feel that that's where the most significant characterizations are made, and this required a lot of dialogue. So, even though it's long, I promise it moves quickly.

* * *

_Can I Sail Through The Changing Ocean Tides?_

_Can I Handle The Seasons Of My Life?_

--_Fleetwood Mac, "Landslide" _

"_Ab_solutely not," Allison said, her voice adamant, and Robert was grateful she wasn't going to volunteer out of some feelings of old loyalty. "We have three teenagers at home, two whom are graduating in two months, and we both have _kind _of stressful jobs. We love House but we can't take him on. And, he would _not _want to be living with us." Allison was ready for a confrontation, hands on hips, her expression lethal.

"He doesn't _want_ to be living with anyone," Wilson pointed out. "Especially not an aide."

"Seriously, can't we talk to Cuddy? She's the one he _would _like to help him out. Or you, Wilson. You've lived with him before; hell, I'm still not sure most days if we're friends with him," Allison pointed out.

"My guest bedroom is on the fifth floor," Wilson said, and Robert remembered that Leah and Wilson had just moved into a narrow brownstone. "You guys have a guest bedroom on the first floor, don't you?"

"Our kids _still _adore House," Robert finally spoke. "And House in recovery—it's _bad_. We've all seen it, but Claire, Sophie, and Rocco—Elizabeth when she's home—haven't. The reason our relationship as a family works with House is because we respect each other's privacy. He and the kids connect here, or on his terms. The kids've seen his apartment a dozen times. They've never seen him stark pissed. They think he's _kidding _about the hookers. House keeps his privacy, we keep our sanity."

"We need to talk to Cuddy again," Allison insisted. "She's the one who's best qualified for dealing with House, she's the one he wants the most."

"Cuddy's still angry about the retirement," Wilson said. "She doesn't want to move back; he refuses to move to Florida. We can work on them both, but …" he raised his hands, as if to say _I don't know what to do_, "it's definitely going to take a while."

"We don't _have_ a while," Allison pointed out.

"You know, a little persuasion on both sides, this could work. She wants to forgive him and take care of him, just not here. She wants to enjoy her retirement. She just wants him to go as well. And this—this could be good for him. Once he can't be in Diagnostics every day he'll realize that he _can _live without Diagnostics _and _that he misses Cuddy. And Cuddy can be convinced pretty easily to care for him, once he just agrees to live in Florida."

"So, it should only take a few weeks or a month, then?" Foreman asked.

"Yeah. I can work on Cuddy," Wilson said, before turning back to Chase and Cameron, "and I know that you two have very busy lives, you're in the hospital more than I am—" Wilson had switched to giving lectures and consulting on patients only sporadically, "but can you imagine a drunk, high, depressed, pissed-off House around a four-year-old? If either of them is cranky, there's no way it'll end well. Rocco, Sophie, and Claire at least somewhat understand House's dark side."

"He's still not good around them," Robert said. "They hero-worship him; him _living_ with us is only going to end badly. House in pain—he's practically _evil._ _And _he'll resent it. He'll resent the invasion of privacy and hewon't want them—hell, he won't want Allison or me—to _see _him like this." House had had six hospitalizations since he'd married Allison; Robert and Allison had run errands, arranged apartment cleaning, and visited him in the hospital, but Wilson and Cuddy had done the heavy lifting, and that was the way House wanted it.

He knew he had a great, sound argument, but he also knew that Wilson had two much better points. He wouldn't want House staying with a four-year-old either, it was a ticking time bomb. But Robert had seen enough of these recoveries to know that hospitalization only made House more caustic, retiring had only made him more cantankerous and unpredictable. House was truly a friend, but that didn't mean he was going to overlook that fact that House would be a total pain in the ass during his recovery, _and _they already were too busy dealing with the kids to throw in something new. Still, Robert was pretty certain that at the end of this conversation, they would be bringing House home.

"What other option _is _there?" Foreman asked Robert directly. "Arguments about who has the most sensitive kids aside, you guys have a larger house, with a first-floor guest bedroom."

"_You _could come down and take care of him, Foreman," Allison pointed out icily.

He scoffed. "I have a department to run in Connecticut, and I spend about sixteen hours a day running it. It's larger than either of yours, and it's larger than the one at PPTH, even if Hartmann could offer me a similar position," he smiled smugly, and Chase rolled his eyes. Allison's suggestion hadn't been the best, but Foreman now deserved whatever Al wanted to throw at him.

"Oh, I forgot, your department is bigger than mine," she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Well, my kids are more tangible than yours. And a _lot _busier. If we're not at work, we're driving someone someplace or watching a play or a track meet or a soccer game or just plain trying to make sure our kids grow up to be decent people. _That _isn't a job, though." Foreman visibly flinched.

Wilson stepped in before Allison could get more Mama Bear. "Obviously, Foreman moving down isn't a solution," he didn't bother to add that, of the four, Foreman was the one who least liked House. "But, really, I can't be the solution. I want to be," he added, and Robert knew that, unfortunately, that was the case. Wilson wouldn't say no unless he absolutely had to.

He shot a look at Allison, knowing the inevitable, and her shoulders loosened a little. Rolling her eyes upward, she said, "maybe… _maybe_… we can do it. For a _very _short amount of time. And… Wilson, is there any way you can handle weekends? Or driving him to PT? Or getting Cuddy to come back?"

"Of course. Anything," Wilson promised, and Robert knew he meant it.

"We should go talk to him about the surgery," Allison said.

He glanced at his watch; it was nearly seven. Elizabeth was still roaming the hospital, he suspected that Rocco had walked over as well—his soccer team practiced on the university's fields—and the twins should both be getting home, according to Allison. He glanced over into the conference room and saw Haxby and Hunt still working. "Oy! Haxby! Hunt!" he called.

The two men walked into the room, Haxby, his newest fellow, slouching and looking apprehensive. "It's almost seven on a Friday night; you two both need to go out and get laid." Haxby turned positively scarlet. He gave him a look, but continued, "We're going to go talk to House and then leave. He's going to have a stent surgery tomorrow; Haxby, can you observe and make sure all goes according to plan? It should only be about four hours." He knew someone there from his team was slightly useless and unnecessary, but he would rather have someone there than not.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be there," Haxby said, straightening a little.

"Luke, are you okay?" Allison asked. She knew his team pretty well, mother-henned them when he let her.

"Fine," he assured her, and his color finally seemed normal.

"Alright, let's go talk to House. And then let's go _home_," Robert said. He would truly rather be anywhere else right now.

Allison scrolled through her texts as they walked down, and sighed. "Soph has already left with Jake for the night. She said she would be home by curfew," she sighed.

"Jake's not that bad," Robert said automatically.

"I know. … Plus they're just going to break up soon anyways, so I'm not being concerned." Robert rolled his eyes. Jake honestly wasn't that bad of a kid. Good runner, fun, laid back.

"Think about the last guy of Elizabeth's we met. Total ass, but went to Columbia," he reminded her.

"He wasn't a _normal_ kid from Columbia; he told us off the bat his grandfather was dean emeritus of the law school. And they dated for about a minute, we just happened to be visiting that weekend."

"Where're the other three?"

"Checking," she said. "Rocco and Lizzy are waiting in the cafeteria, Ceecee is at home but going to Marissa's house for movies. Also, she's babysitting the tomorrow at six. And Rocco has Tommy Chesterton's birthday party after the game tomorrow. And I told Lizzy we'd go shopping, too."

"What time does Rocco's tournament start?"

"He needs to be on the bus at nine, his first game's at noon. It should take most of the afternoon, but it's only in Newark. What?" Allison snapped the last word, and Robert saw Foreman had been giving her the eyebrow-up. "Four kids _is a lot of work_, Foreman." He held up his hands in defeat.

They paused outside his door, momentarily collecting their thoughts. "I can see you!" he yelled.

They exchanged looks, and walked in. "Hey House," Wilson said.

"You guys all have awful poker faces," House said. "Also, tell whoever is in charge of Jell-o that I don't like the green kind."

"We'll get right on that," Robert said. "Tomorrow you're going to have surgery, so don't forget to stop eating at midnight."

House at least looked surprised, and Robert smiled. "We're putting stents in your carotid and your hepatic arteries. If you want, we can also put one in your renal artery. It's riskier, because that's where the clot came from, but I wanted you to make that call."

He shrugged. "Stick it in me. That's all?" He shoved a spoonful of pudding in his mouth.

"We also need to talk about your recovery," Allison said. "We've talked to the PTs and Foreman, and if the surgery goes well you can go home in the middle of next week. But we don't want you living alone for the next few weeks. It's too dangerous, you've got too many tasks to relearn and too many opportunities to fall, or for another clot to throw, or for the stitches to spring a bleed," she paused. "Chase and I have a ground-floor guest bedroom. We'd like you to come stay with us for a while."

House was silent, and Allison started rushing to fill the quiet. "Obviously, it would only be temporary. And there are alternatives—you could have a home-health nurse full time or a physical therapist's assistant. But it would be irresponsible for us as doctors to say that you're okay living alone after stroke and a surgery. It would just be for a few weeks, just until we can give you the all-clear to be on your own again."

"House, it's a good option," Wilson cut in. "I'd offer to let you stay with me but –"

"You live in a brownstone," House finished for him.

"Yeah. But their place is close. And big."

"Cameron can't cook," House pointed out.

"Neither can you," she retorted.

House turned to him. "You okay with this?"

He shrugged. He didn't want to. It was disrespectful to House, would be rough on the kids, would probably scourge up many long-dead issues. "Yeah. It's the best fit."

"Just for a few weeks," House said. "I got enough of you two by the sex-in-closets stage."

"Ground rule: No telling the kids tawdry stories," Allison said.

"Define tawdry," House said dismissively.

"Okay, back to the surgery," Robert said quickly. "They'll wheel you out at 10 for prep; the surgery's scheduled for 11. We won't be here, but Haxby'll be in the room."

"I hope he gets to _bed_ on time tonight," House muttered. Robert raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't understand," House said.

"The surgery will take about four hours, you'll be taken to recovery and you should be good to go in a few hours."

"I'll be there too, House," Wilson chimed in. He slouched into a chair. "I know you guys had to get going right now; I'm going to stay."

"Cool," Robert said.

"I'm taking the train back to Connecticut tomorrow," Foreman announced. "It was good to see you again, House." He nodded briefly at his former boss.

"Don't forget your roots back up in that white-washed state," House said, returning the nod.

The three of them turned and left. "You're going back, then?" Robert asked, personally a little relieved to have him gone. They'd thought there was going to be complications, the sort that got House mean. In retrospect, it was anticlimactic.

"Yeah, he definitely doesn't need me here. Of course, call me if anything changes," Foreman said. "But I have to get back to my practice."

"We'll miss you," Allison said. "Thanks for all your help." She pressed the down button, and then hugged him. "Remember not to be a stranger." Robert settled for a handshake. He never knew where he stood with Foreman, and he knew that Foreman liked it that way. Even House was easier to read than Foreman.

"You need a ride?" he asked.

"Nah—you guys have a busy evening," Foreman replied, his eyes twinkling.

They said good-bye again as he got off on the main level, and they descended to the cafeteria.

"Mom! Dad!" Rocco yelled from the corner, where he and Elizabeth sat in a booth. Rocco, he could see, had a piece of chocolate-strawberry cake in front of him. Allison would not like that.

"Rocco!" she exclaimed, as if on cue. "You haven't had dinner yet."

"I had three _hours_ of soccer after school, and lunch was at 11:30," he replied, licking frosting off a fork. "How's House?"

"He's doing pretty well. He's going to have surgery tomorrow," Allison said, glancing at him as the kids put on their jackets and Rocco picked up his plate. "And, actually—this concerns you, Rocco, more than you, Lizzy—he's going to be coming and staying with us for a few weeks, after he recovers."

Rocco just shrugged. You couldn't faze him. "Cool," he said.

"He's not going with Cuddy?" Elizabeth asked.

"No…no he's not," Allison said, rolling her eyes slightly. She put her arm around Rocco's shoulder.

"Weird, I figured they would work everything out when she kicked me out," Elizabeth said.

"She kicked you out of House's room?" Robert asked, suspicious.

Elizabeth nodded. "Well, not physically. I figured they would yell it out then hug it out."

Robert exchanged a look with Allison, then shrugged. "Weird."

"Okay, so what do you two want for dinner?" Allison said. "The twins are both out already."

"Chinese," Rocco said immediately, while Elizabeth threw out, "sushi."

"Thai it is," Robert compromised, whipping out his cell. "Everyone's usuals?" They all nodded, and he placed the order.

"Anyone up for a movie?" Allison asked. Robert was personally pretty exhausted, but he knew that Allison wasn't going to pass up the time with Lizzy.

"Can't," Elizabeth said. "I'm meeting someone for a post-bite bite."

"A post-bite bite?" her mother said skeptically. "What's that?"

"Like, dessert, except not especially desserty," Elizabeth explained.

"_Who_?" Robert asked. "All your high-school friends are at college right now." And none of her close went to Princeton, which ruled that out, too. And she'd been with him most of the day and hadn't mentioned anything.

"Nobody, really," she said quickly. "Just some guy… met him at the hospital today, actually."

"You picked up a patient? A relative? How do you know this guy's not creepy?" Allison said skeptically.

"I _have_ intuition," Elizabeth said, with a shred of dignity. Her little brother started to laugh, though, and she shoved him surreptitiously.

Seemingly unrelated images began to fit together in Robert's mind. "Elizabeth," he said sternly. "You wouldn't happen to be getting a post-bite bite with Luke Haxby, would you?" Elizabeth tried to keep a confused, innocent face, but Rocco's harsh burst of laughter confirmed his suspicions. Elizabeth shoved her brother's shoulder, but he kept laughing. "Lizzy!" he said, slightly repulsed and loud enough for the receptionist to turn. "He's 31! You're 20!"

"I'm almost 21," she pointed out indifferently.

"You can't date one of your dad's employees," Allison rationalized.

"It's not dating, it's a post-bite bite."

"He's so _old_," Robert said immediately, feeling repulsed by his employee. "I was about his age when I met your mum!"

"Maybe, but you guys were a thing for like six years before you got married," Elizabeth replied, annoyed, as if that was a reason. "And Mom was married when she was my age. I'm _really_ not seeing what your problem is. And before you start judging _him,_ I did the asking. I'm in town, he's cute… I don't see a problem."

"You _picked up_ one of my employees?" His head started to hurt. He wished he'd had four sons.

"Are you going to _ground _me?" she asked baldly.

He caught Allison's eye. She looked incredibly nervous, and slightly appalled at Elizabeth's behavior. "I'm … registering my disapproval. It's not like I don't know where this guy lives, or works," he said. "Where is this post-bite bite? A bar, I'm guessing." He always tried to be realistic and stick to medical and legal arguments when the girls talked about alcohol—all three had admitted to casual drinking, all starting in their junior year—but it always made his heart race, his palms itch.

She nodded blithely. "I won't drink," she promised, as if that made a difference.

"Like hell you're not going to drink," Robert muttered.

"You _want_ your underaged daughter to drink?"

"No, but I'm realistic," he said. She seemed to shrink a little under his gaze, and suddenly looked at her shoes. "Though if you come home drunk or even smelling like booze you're dead. You have three younger siblings, and they're not allowed to date my employees and come home smelling like a bar." He'd never told his kids about the specifics of his mother's death, he was never quite sure how to start the conversation. Allison thought he should tell them, if only for medical reasons, but she respected his wishes.

"Sophie and Claire turn 21 two _months _into their junior year of college. It's not fair."

"Oh, come on," Allison said as they piled into Robert's SUV. "And you got to go to kindergarten a year before they did."

"I can't believe you're going on a _date _with someone that old. That's gross," Rocco piped in.

"Thank you, next time I have a dating question I'll come to you," Elizabeth snapped back, flustered. "Sending a Valentine's Day card to Katie McKinley isn't exactly _experience_."

"You know, that'd be like _Rocco_ dating someone older than you," Allison pointed out darkly.

"It's not dating! It's a drink! There are no expectations. Guy probably doesn't have much of a social life if he's in diagnostics, and I'm getting _bored_ of sitting at home!"

"I can't believe you! You're home for another _two_ days!" Allison exclaimed.

"So?" Elizabeth said. She sighed. "Dad…"

"What do you want me to say? Do you want a blessing?" Robert shot back. He hated when he had to make these decisions; the good cop-bad cop balance usually tipped slightly in favor of Allison being bad cop, and he wished Lizzy had chosen her mother. "I can't tell you that you _can't_, I can only tell you it's a very bad idea. He's too _old _for you. And there's a big difference between an undergrad and someone who's finished his residency, beyond just the years."

"But you're not saying no?" She questioned.

He threw up his hands, and Allison made a noise that meant, "Rob! Really! You're driving!" and he grabbed the wheel again. "You're 20. You're not a child, now you get to start being an irresponsible adult. You know you don't have a curfew. If you're trying to be rebellious you're a little late to the party. But if you come home drunk, _especially _if you're driving, your mother's threat from high school still stands."

"You would call force me to spend a week in the E.D.?" she asked skeptically.

"Maybe longer," he said grimly. He really hated doing this; he also knew that was why Elizabeth had asked him.

They pulled up into the parking lot of Thai Singha, and Robert handed his credit card to Rocco. "Should I come straight back to the car after I have the food or should I, you know, wait inside for a signal?" Rocco asked, an impish smile across his face. "Maybe like a flashlight?"

"Rocco," Allison said, annoyed. "Just come straight back."

Rocco all but ran out of the car, and Elizabeth slumped back in her seat. "What do you _want_ me to do?"

"I can't believe Haxby agreed to this," Allison muttered. "He seemed so smart."

"I asked _him_," Elizabeth shouted.

"Yeah, and _that_ erases the fact that he knew you were his boss's daughter _and are twenty years old_."

"I think you're both really overreacting," Elizabeth pouted.

"Maybe we are," Robert said. Both his wife and his daughter dropped their jaws. "Just remember, Elizabeth, tonight he may be the cute doctor and you might think it's cool and fun and you're equals, but come Monday he is my employee, and I have many, many ways to make his life hell. And that on Monday you're back at school and it's kind of creepy if you went out with a guy in his thirties. . Also keep in mind that you have two younger sisters, so you damn well better get in at a decent time and _not_ drunk."

Allison was covered in shadows, so he couldn't see her eyes, but when she spoke he could tell they'd landed on the same page. "And before you go on about how you _know_ how our relationship started and how I was married at 21," her voice caught, tripped up on the anniversary, "remember that when your father and I began our relationship we were in our thirties, living alone, had jobs, and we struggled to be mature. And I would never want you to go through what I had to go through when I married at your age. Don't use us as justifications for your actions. You've had a very good life, maybe too good. You have a lot left to learn here."

Thankfully, Rocco came back into the car, Styrofoam boxes stacked in his hands. "Is it safe?" he asked.

"Get in, Rocco," Allison said.

"You're not going to kill Elizabeth?"

"You're more likely to die right now," Elizabeth said menacingly.

"Fine. No spring roll for _you,_" Rocco snapped back, tearing the container open and eating a spring roll in two bites.

"Rocco! If you're that hungry during soccer practice start packing snacks," Allison said.

Luckily, they were very close to home; Robert was getting sick of both kids. Dinner was quick and quiet; Rocco tore into his drunken noodles while both Allison and Elizabeth picked at chicken pad Thai, studiously not speaking. He spent most of the meal daydreaming ways to torture Haxby, and then realized how much the voice in his head sounded like House's.

Finally, Elizabeth stalked off, presumably to get ready for her post-bite bite, and Allison ordered Rocco to do his homework because he would be at soccer tournaments for most of the weekend.

"Whose turn?" Allison asked. Years ago, they made a rule they'd alternate clean-up on takeout nights. He had lost track ages ago, though.

"You dry, I'll wash?" he offered, and she smiled.

Part of the frustration—and the fun—of being married to Allison was her full range of unpredictable emotional reactions. Sometimes she craved touch, sometimes she would freeze, sometimes she would want to yell, or get pissy. When she was nervous she might chatter incessantly and start thinking too much, or she would suddenly internalize everything, shut the lights off in the bedroom, roll away from him when he reached for her. She might go into distraction mode, using cleaning and errands and paperwork and talking about others fill the silences. Or she could get bossy and controlling, which inevitably meant a fight.

It all depended on the subtle cocktail of events in her day; today, there had been the anniversary of her first marriage, which always made her feel ambivalent and guilty and off, there had been a difficult patient but six that had gone pretty well, a lot of meetings that were tedious but made her feel accomplished, a fun lunch with Janie, the House drama, and Elizabeth's weird new brand of rebellion. He guessed she felt tired, a little tense, but not overly snappy, tonight, but even his best guesses were often way off-mark with her.

They washed and dried the dishes, using touch and sound and motion to find a rhythm. The volatility of their early years, which had left them both with constant aches of frustration and uncertain of the water's depth, had evolved into soft, familiar habit as years and experiences accumulated; the underlying currents in each other's personalities evening out to gentle waves when merged. Even now, practically an eon since they met, even he was sometimes surprised at how they could understand each other despite their polar-opposite personalities. They'd grown up together, he now realized with a bit of melancholy-tinged perspective.

He remembered a conversation he'd overheard at their wedding; he'd approached Cuddy and Allison from the back with flutes of champagne. The two, in a spurt of friendliness and benevolence induced by wedding euphoria, were speaking very freely. Cuddy had said something about how pleased, but surprised, she was that they had married. "Honestly, just from a supervisor's point of view, you two have opposite personalities and instincts."

Allison had shrugged. "Maybe that's why it works. Everything cancels out. We had to learn to be intuitive and to compromise. We needed to work harder to trust each other and ourselves, even to love each other, ourselves. We… learned how to dance together." It was a metaphor that would make House proud. If he analyzed it, he suspected it came from learning how to bridge the differences as coworkers first, learning how to respect each other in the sole arena they'd shared at the time, followed by the decision to sleep together, enjoying a place where they were in sync. A date first probably would have wrecked whatever it was.

He didn't realize they'd finished the dishes until she'd snapped him across the chest with a dishtowel. "Guess what we're going to do tonight?" she asked, and he knew that she was going to take control of small things, demand comfort from him to seek solace from the day. He realized that was what he needed, too. "We're going to sit on the couch and watch something boring and middle-aged like the History Channel until we fall asleep and they all make fun of us."

"Sounds _perfect_," he muttered, and took her hand, because he knew she needed him to lead a little tonight. She even put her head on his shoulder as they were walking into the living room. They flopped together on the couch; he sitting slouched in the corner between the arm and the back of the couch, she with her head on his chest and her legs running the length of the couch. He threw an arm around her hips, holding her up, and used his free hand to find a suitably boring channel. He felt his back muscles unclench.

"Rob?" she said a few seconds into a cooking show, looking up at him so her hair brushed his cheek.

"Hmm?"

"What do you think about the House thing?"

He was glad she picked that topic of conversation; he still didn't know what to think about Elizabeth. "We don't really have a choice. We can't leave House alone, and there aren't any other options."

"Yeah, but are you okay with it?" He knew she was thinking about his constant desire for privacy and a veneer of holding it together, and of House's unique ways of pushing his buttons. He might have become more resistant over the years, but House had only gotten better. Robert trusted House completely as a doctor and liked him as a person, but still couldn't articulate his feelings on this latest twist.

"I don't know," he finally said. "He's never bothered me, his comments, I mean. I don't care what he _says _or _does_, really. He knows his usual song-and-dance routine is pretty harmless here, though I can't say I like his meddling. And right now things … things are going well, but we're already booked to the brim and we don't have enough time for each other. And the next couple months are big for Sophie and Claire. And he's not going to like them see him recover. So nobody's going to be happy, I think; I think it's going to be pretty frustrating. But we really couldn't say no, could we?"

"No, we couldn't," she whispered.

"You okay with it?"

"No," she said. "But it's the right thing to do." She shrugged. "I want to be mad at him, but this is the first time since the infarction when he's not even a little bit guilty. And I _know _I can't feel sorry for him. I wish Cuddy could take care of him. She _dated_ him for 25 years, after all, but I understand why she can't. And I'm feeling a little selfish, which is—awful, but I don't feel like sharing more time right now. And spending so much time with House —I mean, I can't even say that I sort-of understand House's motivations, most of the time, and God knows he really doesn't want help. He can get so exhausting, and sometimes I just get tired of the … games. But you never know," she paused. "This could be different, because we might hold all the cards here."

He chuckled. "We'll never hold all the cards." She nodded in agreement, and, as with most things when they were on the same page, there was little use for more words.

He kissed her forehead, and she smiled and said, "Okay, enough with this cooking crap. Movie?"

They popped in something cheery and snappy, watching in silence (Robert hated people speaking during movies) until a nervous-looking Elizabeth came downstairs, dressed in an airy blue top and jeans. "Alright, I'm going now. I'll be home soon. I _won't _drive if I drink. I promise."

Allison rolled her eyes, but simply said, "Good night, dear." As soon as she was out the door, she said, "Can you _believe _this?"

"No," he admitted. "But he's a good guy, I know where he lives, and this asking-an-inappropriate-guy-way-older-than-her-out just means she's more _yours_," he grinned. Whenever one of theirs did something absolutely nuts, they tried to attribute it to the other parent, an unfunny but familiar joke that had started years ago. "Also, it's fun to think about ways to tease them come Monday. I think I'll ask House for tips."

Allison laughed, finally loud and genuine and merry, placed her hands on his cheeks to kiss him again.

Please review!


	8. Walked Some Strange and Lonely Treks

**Disclaimers **in part one.

Hey allThere will be an update tomorrow, probably, but after that I'm going to have to go dark for the next few days as I settle back into my life in Philadelphia and the schedule of school/work. Keep reviewing (it'll keep me motivated) and I'll keep writing.

To address something from a few chapters back: Haxby's original first name was Nick, but I didn't like that as much as Luke, but I guess I missed one reference. Elizabeth was talking to Luke Haxby, and I've edited that chapter. Thanks for the catch. :)

_Slightly Worn But Dignified And Not Too Old for Sex_

_We're Still Striving For the Sky_

_--ABBA "When All Is Said and Done"_

"You're leaving _tomorrow_?" Wilson asked, aghast. "When did you even have time to book a plane ticket?" House had actually had to convince him that Cuddy was leaving, that he wasn't pulling Wilson's leg again.

Lisa, caught, looked up from stuffing her suitcase. "Last night, online," she said. "He's up. He's fine. I don't need to be here anymore."

"Yes, you _do_," he insisted. "He needs you here."

"No, he wants me here," she corrected. "He wants me to stay here and move in and everything. I don't want that. He doesn't _need_ me; he's got plenty of people. More than he deserves."

"Cameron and Chase agreed to have him stay with them for a few weeks," Wilson said, trying another direction.

"Good. Their kids like him," she said, crossing to the bathroom. She strode purposefully, heels stomping into the tile.

"They have three scarily busy teens at home, and they're both running huge departments!" he exclaimed. "They're swamped; him staying with them isn't fair. And he's none too thrilled either."

"It's not _fair _to _them_?" It was the wrong thing for him to say; Lisa seemed to tremble with rage. "To _them_? So, what, because I don't have teenagers I'm supposed to drop my life and come play house with House? You're the one who's always adamant about not giving in to what he wants when he's being juvenile," she added pettily.

"Lisa, I know you were hurt when House didn't move to Florida—"

"Hurt? No, that makes it sound like I got a scrape. House was an asshole. He screwed me over. Now he's sad and sick and I'm supposed to say, forget what happened? No. House wouldn't either, and House wouldn't expect me to. House made his wishes perfectly clear. He would rather hang out in the hospital and annoy Chase and harass Diagnostic patients and even make lewd comments about a 20-year-old's bra than retire with me. As long as he has everything he wants he's fine and he's not going to change. So either he's fine without me, and then he's your and Cameron's and Chase's problem, or he's not fine and he actually makes an effort. Because I'm sick of meeting him 95 of the way."

"Lisa—" he tried, "I know that you're upset—"

"If you knew that I was upset, you would know not to push this." Her voice was resolute, but he heard a tremble signifying she was desperately close to breaking. She raised an arm, but her hand began to tremble and she quickly put it down. "House … is House. I knew we were never going to do the Chase-and-Cameron thing, but moving to _Florida_. It's not difficult; hell, we could visit every other month!" She threw a makeup bag down on the bed. "Again, I'm very sorry he had a stroke, but I'm going back to Florida."

"Lisa—this is _House_ we're talking about."

She looked ready to explode. "Really? _Really_? I had no idea."

"What I'm saying is—you _loved_ helping people, but running the damn place. And my thing was always helping the patient. But House is an addict, in every single sense. He's certain people, pills, the puzzles. It's always going to be the puzzle, whether he's getting paid or not. With you and with me, we can take the aspects we liked about being a doctor and translate them into something else—you're writing a book, and right now I'm raising a toddler," he shook his head; most days he still needed to remind himself that Rebecca existed. "And he can't. But the fact that you even got him to step back, to only go in for a few hours a few days a week—Lisa, that's _extraordinary_. Retiring at _all _was him meeting you halfway. All he really wants is a chance to keep his puzzles _but to also _be with you."

"You can't always _get _what you want," Lisa threw two pairs of heels in her bag. "And right now he wants two incompatible things."

"No, he doesn't!" James insisted. "He just doesn't know it yet."

"Well, when _will_ he know it?"

"Two weeks," James said quickly. "I think I can have him convinced in two weeks."

She raised an eyebrow. "You think that you, in two weeks, can completely turn around an argument I've been having with him for two years, and get him to leave his apartment and the hospital he's worked at for almost forty years?"

"I think you'll be very surprised with the progress we can make in two weeks," he said carefully. "I think you should come back up then."

She looked suspicious. "Why are you so adamant that we end up together?"

"Because!" he exclaimed. "Since Chase, Cameron, and Foreman actually stayed for three years, he's realized he's dependent on some people, too. He thought he couldn't trust anyone after Stacy but those five _long _years when he had those three and then you two got together changed that! And he doesn't let those people go anymore. And you two! You're… you're good for each other. _Twenty _years together! He considers you his equal, and he _missed_ you when you left him. When you spend so much of your life knowing a person you start to grow together, like … like vines, and when you separate it starts choking both of you. And he's beginning to show symptoms. He's changed, Lisa, he's changed since you met him, since you started loving him, and since you left he's changed even more. He's… just being stubborn."

"I never knew a man on his fifth marriage could be this romantic."

"Are you kidding? It's _why _I'm on my fifth marriage."

"What do you have planned?"

"Nothing, yet," he admitted. "But I think—something like this, maybe it'll sink in."

She looked even more skeptical. "You think you can _seriously_ reverse seven decades of him being him?"

He nodded confidently. "If I were House I would bet on it. I don't think I can convince him to pack up and move to Naples, but I think you'll see progress. Two weeks."

"We're defining progress first," she said.

"He'll … be happy to see you, and he will be beginning to realize that he doesn't need the hospital as much."

"Arbitrary," Lisa said, and began to move around the room again.

"Just… just come back in two weeks," he pleaded. "You'll notice a change, I swear."

She finally started zipping up her suitcase. "What makes you so sure? House doesn't change unless he wants to, or unless there's money involved."

"A stroke this debilitating to his mobility… will force him to change," James said. "And this time we're in total control of House's entire environment. Chase and Cameron have him at home, they know when he's in and out of the hospital. And it won't take much from us. He's ready, he just doesn't know it. He's been taking calls, you know, from other hospitals. Consulting via phone, giving them tips. He can do this."

She sat on the corner of her bed, and he realized he was still standing awkwardly in the doorway. "Why do you have such faith in him?"

"Why?" he asked uncomprehendingly.

"He's … he's a good man, but he's screwed you over more than anyone else. Including me. Yet you always stick by him."

"Because," he said, searching for the correct phrasing, "because he's House, and I know he'll always be there for me if I need it. Only when I absolutely need it, but by that point most everyone else has already walked out." He shrugged. "That's it, really."

She shook her head. "Two weeks," she promised. "I'll be back in two weeks."

"Good," he said. "What time's your flight? I'll take you to the airport."

"No need," she shook her head. "House's surgery is tomorrow. You should be there."

"Chase has Haxby overseeing," he said. "Did you know Elizabeth asked Haxby out? In front of House." He hadn't believed that at first either.

"She's in college!"

"I know," Wilson nodded. "But they're meeting for a drink at The Boar's Head right… about now."

"Bet she hasn't told her parents," Cuddy said. "Alright. I'm going to take a shower."

"Cool," he nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

He wound his way down the stairs in the center of the brownstone. Stairs were still unfamiliar to him. After fifty years of living in apartments and condos, having stairs _inside_ his house, his daughter running up and down them, was an absolute marvel.

He found Leah in the kitchen, dressed in sweats and paying the bills. She was lovely; chestnut hair still shiny and strong, athletic figure kept toned by yoga, dance, and swimming. After the four-month disaster that had been Marriage Four, he'd sworn off not only marriage but relationships. That had not lasted long, obviously, and Cameron's ministrations didn't help much. She had tried to set him up with every single nurse over the age of 30, even became close with Janie, the Chief Nursing Officer, in order to find more candidates. But at a hospital gala he'd seen Leah, on the rocks with her then-husband, and had found her funny, admired her spunk and composure when she and the guy got into a fight. When he heard she was divorcing, he asked her out. She'd turned him down, explaining that he seemed nice but she wasn't looking for dating. Two months later she called and announced she thought she was ready.

Leah was different from his other wives; she was a lot like Amber, actually, but not needy in the same way. Leah sought emotional approval, first and foremost, while Amber had always needed professional validation. But Leah was absolutely not repelled by House, and she wasn't scared of James, either. He couldn't emotionally manipulate her, or cheat on her, the way he had with Carolyn, Bonnie, Julie. She was simply too practical and straightforward; she'd maintained her self-respect when she agreed to a relationship with him. He knew, retroactively, that his first three wives had not (and he was simply not going to consider Alicia). This knowledge sickened him. He'd wanted to go apologize to each of them, profusely, once he figured this out; House had stopped him.

"Hey," Leah said, straightening as he entered. "How's Lisa? Is she still leaving tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he said, crossing to the kettle and holding it out to her, as an offer to brew her a cup. She shook her head and smiled. "But she' s coming back in two weeks. I think we can get House to change, to start considering Florida. I said we could do it in two weeks. Do you mind if she uses the spare room again?"

"Not at all," Leah said, tearing off a check and putting in a pre-addressed envelope. "Do you really think House can change?'

"I think he has changed, he just hasn't admitted it," James said, his tone resolute. "And this is a perfect way to get him to see he's changed. He's living with his physicians, he's working on his recovery; he's simply not in Diagnostics as much. He figures out he's okay without diagnosing weird diseases all over the place and he realizes he can go with Lisa."

Leah raised an eyebrow and released a soft laugh, more a sigh than anything else. "Honey, you're going to try and out-mind-game House?"

"Yeah. He doesn't know it's a mind game _at all_. There's no money. There's no incentive. It's a perfectly controlled experiment."

"Good luck," Leah smiled, pulling him down by his tie for a kiss. "I wish you the best."

"Da-ad, are we gonna do my bath tonight?" Rebecca whined from the doorway. She was in a jumper and purple leggings; her hands looked sticky and her hair was disheveled. She'd been hellish all day, according to Leah.

"Of course! I wouldn't miss it!" he said, his voice jovial as Santa's. "Come on, Rebecca Sue." He lifted her from under the arm pits and swung her, and she giggled wildly. He turned to his wife. "I got this. I'll be down soon."

She laughed, and said, "Don't forget, the ducklings are in the cabinet."

Rebecca was another unexpected bonus of Leah. He'd never _wanted_ to leave Leah, never even had the urge to cheat, but had always consistently worried that he would relapse and stray. Having Rebecca, tangible evidence of their bond, assured him he never would. He knew most people assumed she was his granddaughter, but he didn't care; she was miracle to behold and he adored her. He knew Leah wasn't "his one," but he'd learned long ago to stop trying for "the one." And, once he had, he'd found something incredible and precious.

* * *


	9. No One Would Surprise Me Unless You Do

**Disclaimer **in part one.

I struggled about whether or not this chapter should be included, becuase it's about two non-canon characters and doesn't involve anyone from the show we know and love. Still, I decided it would be wrong not to include this part, so here you go: The Haxby/Elizabeth date.

Going offline for a few days to move in to school and such, updates will probably be longer apart from now on because of school. Keep reading/reviewing, though please!

* * *

_We Don't Care About Our Own Folks_

_Talking bout our own stuff_

_All We Care About Is Talking_

_Talking Only Me and You_

_--Peter, Bjorn & John "Young Folks" _

Luke Haxby arrived at the designated bar fifteen minutes early and ordered a Scotch as a way to fortify himself. He wasn't sure exactly why he'd agree to this drink, but he had, and now he was here.

It wasn't like he didn't have a lot of dates with women who were out of college. But he'd had a free Friday and she'd asked. It was that simple. He'd dated a lot in the past, had been great with girlfriends and great, even, with managing their families. Luke knew he was charming—his last serious girlfriend, Amy, had once told him cryptically that flattery was going to get him everywhere in life. But he hadn't had a lot of dates lately. He'd chalked it up to his fellowship, which was demanding as all hell.

Plus, objectively speaking, she was hot (hell, most of the men in the hospital still thought her _mother _was hot). She also seemed pretty intelligent, if her genes and education were any indication, and reasonably funny. He hoped Chase wouldn't find out, though, or if he did, he would be one of those progressive dads who didn't care that his daughter dated an employee of his that was approximately 10 years older than she.

He doubted that. Chase was an harsh boss, not quite as mean personally as House could (and would) be, and not likely to flout societal norms, but he had at least one employee in the hospital all the time, pushing them to finish a diagnosis, find a new case, write up another article. He didn't mind yelling _bloody idiots_ several times a day.

Luke tried to appear relaxed, his shoulders loose and his back straight but not rigid, but he still didn't hear her drop into the stool next to him. She looked lovely, in a blue top and fitted jeans, her mane of hair shimmering down her back.

"Hey," he smiled. "Care for a drink?"

"Sure," she smiled. "Don't laugh at my drink, though. Hey Jack," she called lightly, and the bartender came over.

"Liz!" he smiled broadly. "Back in town for a visit?"

"Yeah, I thought I'd drop in on my old professors for a bit," she replied breezily. "Still miss it." She shrugged and smiled.

"Still drinking Sidecars and gimlets?" he laughed.

She smiled too. "One day maybe I'll grow down to my age, but right now I think I'll just enjoy my gimlet."

"Coming right up," the bartender smiled and left.

"I have a feeling you know the guy?" Luke asked.

She laughed. "You're going to think I'm nuts," she began, "but when I was a junior in high school," her voice was low and intimate, she swung her head toward him so that her hair would muffle her words, "I started taking classes at Princeton through PHS and would study at Firestone, because it had more books and it was quieter than the one at school. One day when I was there I met a junior, named William Warren Harrington III. One of _those_ Princeton kids, y'know? He was in T.I. and everything, but nice guy, really. We started dating, really casually, and he bought me a fake I.D. for the one-month anniversary of our first date—romantic, I know. But I couldn't go to most of the club's parties because my parents would figure it out in a heartbeat, so we started meeting here before his parties started and I had to be home. I had a huge story spun for old Jack. I was an American lit major, I came up with a whole spiel about my thesis. It was completely wrong and illegal, but it was kind of fun." She jumped back as Jack returned with her vodka gimlet.

"First one's on the house," he winked before walking away.

"He's just the sweetest," she took a sip of her drink. "Have to have vodka, can't stand gin. Anyways, by the time we broke up—he wanted to go to the prom with me but I was absolutely terrified of my parents and what they would say," she laughed, "once we broke up, I'd made some friends with his friends, and we would still meet here. Plus my senior year I had a lot of friends at Princeton from high school, and one of the first things you learn as a freshman here is that you need a fake I.D. So I kept coming here my senior year and then I told Jack that I'd graduated and was moving to New York City. I come back here on breaks and stuff, say I'm visiting old friends," she smiled. The bar was dark, her face was framed in golden shadows. She looked precocious and alluring all at once, an enticing woman-child mix who looked far older than her years.

"Pretty elaborate ruse," he noted. He knew her family's story, of course, everyone did. He knew House—whom he had mixed feelings about—had been a major part of her childhood, and that her parents were quick-witted, skeptical, stubborn, and observant, which would have had to be hell. She'd probably started learning deviousness around the time she was two. She was also, he deduced, willful and used to getting what she wanted.

"So now I've shared the sordid stories of my youth," she smiled. "Your turn. Shoplift any alcohol? Break into a football stadium?"

He laughed. "Hotwired my older brother's car once," he said. "Got it about three blocks before he came after me." He thought about Daniel's face and laughed harder. "I was fourteen. I hit a stop sign."

She laughed. "I hit a stop sign once, too, except I was seventeen when it happened. I have slightly less of an excuse."

"So you're at Columbia, then?" he asked as he signaled _another round_ to the bartender.

"Yeah, majoring in English," she sighed. "Come on, you have to tell me about yourself. It's not fair; I'm at a total disadvantage here."

"What do you want to know?" he smiled.

"Start with the basics. We can move on from there. Where'd you grow up?"

"Kentucky," he said, after a pause. "Near Louisville."

She laughed, delighted. "I was completely going to guess somewhere like Massachusetts or New York. I love surprises. Did you go to the Kentucky Derby?"

He laughed. "Actually, my dad's the in-house vet at Churchill Downs; he's worked there since I was a kid. So, yeah, we were there a lot."

They began to share stories about families and friends and their lives, sprinkling with interesting, but random, details. He'd never met a girl's parents before the girl before, and he subconsciously fought the urge to continually compare her to her mother, father. Within minutes, though, he'd realized she was little like either parent. She was an entertainer, constantly searching for a stage, an audience, to regale with stories. She was easy to talk to, sort of came alive and focused on him entirely. He wasn't sure if she was 20, 21, 22, but there was something very old and very young about her at the same time, and it was kind of captivating. She didn't do all the heavy lifting, though; he could tell he was making her laugh as well, with ridiculous stories of his Dartmouth days.

They slid through family vacations destinations—she talked about the trips to the Shore that inevitably failed because one parent missed the hospital, and the trips to Australia and Paris and Prague that were engineered to keep her parents away from the hospital. He remembered his family's trips to a summer home on the Outer Banks, told her about Daniel and Josh and his parents. They skimmed through college and politics and whether or not pretty little Princeton was boring. It was.

"Why'd you become a doctor?" she asked suddenly.

"Why'd you ask me out for a drink?" he shot back.

She smiled but otherwise ignored the question. "People become doctors for one of three reasons," she said, motioning expansively. All the granny drinks were beginning to hit her, he realized, and then remembered he still hadn't asked how old she was. He would feel perverted if he did. "You become a doctor because you have a doctor parent, so you know the perks. Or you're a science geek that never figured out you needed an ulterior motive besides having your intelligence validated when becoming a doctor. Or you become a doctor because you had something profound and life-changing happened to you, and it inspired you to become a doctor. Now we've already talked about your parents," she took a delicate gulp and set her drink down clumsily, "and they're not doctors. And you don't seem insecure and dorky enough for the second reason. So what life-changing event led you to become a doctor?"

"Hey, I was a science geek in high school," he laughed and sipped his whiskey.

"And…" she waited for the life-changing event that she appeared to know would come.

"And when I was fourteen I was at the track with my dad," he smiled, marveling at her intuition. Or maybe it was just masterful deduction. "I was helping out, you know, and just generally hanging around the stables. And a horse spooked, threw his rider. The rider, unfortunately, hit the metal fence, you know, the one that's kind of low and marks the track? You could hear his neck crack and the thud of his head hitting the fence from where I was, and I couldn't see him. I went running, saw him, absolutely bloody, not moving… Someone called the paramedics and they moved him carefully, took him into the hospital. I thought for sure he was dead. I didn't know how you could survive that. But, two months after breaking his neck, he was back on the horse. He wasn't a professional, anymore, but they had him up and riding for therapy. And I thought that was cool." He swirled his drink. She looked curious still. "Your turn. Why'd you ask me out?" He knew she knew his story was a lie, but she let it slide.

She shrugged. "Who needs a particular reason?"

"Nobody, but you have one."

"True," she conceded. "You seemed nice."

"That's it?"

"Yep. And fun. And I was bored. And you came pre-vetted, which was a plus. I knew I would have a good time. Which I have," she said. She played with his fingers for a minute, spreading them out with her palms, like a palm reader, before recurling them, one by one, into a ball. "I knew you didn't see me exactly as my parents' kid—am I right?" she asked, and he nodded, watching with fascination as she flattened his hand again, "and after this past week, I needed that. Plus, you got a great new bar out of it." She smiled. "Unfortunately I must be going. But that you for a lovely evening."

She stood, and he slipped off his stool to face her. "Are you sure you're okay getting home alone?"

She pondered that for a minute, and said, "I had four drinks. I'm in complete control of my actions, though a cop maybe wouldn't agree. The age thing could be an issue too," she added as an afterthought.

"You're _twenty_?" his tone was disbelieving.

She nodded. "Yep. I don't turn 21 till September. Do you know how much that sucks?" Even between her relative drunkenness and her childish comments, he still had a problem seeing her as _young_, exactly, which was in itself a problem. "I'll take the bus home and deal with not having the car in the morning," she decided.

"I'll drive you home," he offered, helping her get on her coat.

"Nope. I'm already subjecting you to enough misery in the workforce come Monday," she said

"Chase found out?" he didn't want to call him 'your father,' it just sounded so off. "How?" She'd seemed reasonably certain of being able to keep it from it.

"Because," she breathed. "He's damn good at his job."

He thought for a second. While he'd probably have to do some scutwork and endure a few remarks and glares, he was pretty sure Chase would fire him if he found out he'd let her take a bus home. "Nope," he said. "There's no way that _that_'s happening. You probably don't even live in an area with a lot of buses." Her parents were wealthy, established doctors who'd raised four kids; they definitely had some big house in a very residential area.

Without warning, she slid her hand around his neck and pulled him down, kissed him thoroughly. They pulled apart, and she laughed at the question in his eyes. "Now, I couldn't do that in my driveway, could i?" she grabbed his hand. "Come on. Where's your car?"

She popped a breath mint, and told him right, left, left right. He was right; the Cameron-Chase family home was a huge, proud, brick Dutch Colonial with a big, manicured lawn and a freestanding two-story garage peeking from behind the house. It was an area where a lot of professors at the university probably lived; a perfect house in which to grow up.

There was a light on toward the back of the house, and she muttered, "Must be Sophie."

He leaned back in his seat, stalled the engine. "Again, thanks for the invite."

"Thanks for the ride," she smiled. She stroked his cheek, then leaned over and kissed him deeply. "Have fun at work Monday," she said, unbuckling her seatbelt and getting out with another smile.


	10. I Feel You Beating In My Chest

**Disclaimer **in part one

**A/N: **Back at school and gearing up for a fantastic and full semester. I'm not sure how even the posting is going to be, but keep watching, reading and reviewing! I really appreciate all your comments and criticisms.

The next chapter is another one from a Cameron-Chase kid's POV. I've written a little about why I love exploring the kids' motives and personalities, and I thkink that conitnues to hold here. Points if you catch some references/lines to canon events.

I know the inclusion of a date between a full-fledged doctor and a college junior probably squicked a lot of people out, but I really do feel it's important for several reasons. One, some of my favorite House episodes are entirely dependent on a narrator's POV, like "The Mistake" and "Three Stories," where details and facts were obscured because viewers knew we were being influenced by a character's interpretation. So far in this story, we've had several takes on several different characters, and none of them have been the exact and objective reality. For instance, almost every character has included his/her interpretation of Chase and Cameron's family life, and probably none of them are exactly right. Also, both Cameron and Wilson comment on Cameron's friendship with the chief nursing officer, and Cameron finds it completely innocent while Wilson views it as a friendship borne out of Cameron's attempts to find him a wife. Similarly, Elizabeth's personality and actions are often at odds with each other: She's smart and willful, with a base personality very much like her father's, but she does have some of her mother's instincts, and combined, she can be willful, manipulative, and even slightly amoral--but her family still adores her. We see another character's POV of her below. I'm trying to explore the other two girls' personalities and the ways in which they interact here as well. I'm trying to show how characteristics and people meld to create very gray personalities, with some honorable and some not-as-honorable tendencies. Please let me know how I'm doing as this develops.

* * *

Sophie

_Wherever I Dreamed I Was_

_You Were There With Me_

_--Dave Matthews "Sister_

Sophie yawned, stirring the chocolate more thoroughly into the milk. She'd been home at ten till midnight, as usual, made out with Jake for another few minutes before reluctantly dragging herself in. Her parents, who had been lying together on the couch staring at the History Channel (eh?), got up when she came in and announced they were going to bed. She watched them drag themselves upstairs and sighed.

There was something so very bittersweet and melancholy about her parents. She couldn't put her finger on it, exactly; she just didn't think they were very happy. Not that they were unhappy together; she and Ceecee were the only members of their group who had legitimate gripes about their parents' PDA levels. Outside the hospital, they were usually holding hands and had a language of _looks _that made everyone jealous. No, her parents were happy _together_, but neither of them seemed like they were naturally happy people. In public (and even around the kids) they were usually fine, but whenever she spied them alone, at the end of the day, they looked defenseless, even a little defeated, together. They were simply pretending to be happy, functional people for the kids, trying to show them how to succeed in life.

Which was stupid, really, because her parents were obviously pretty successful. They were doctors, for God's sake; doctors whom her science-oriented friends talked about in reverence. She didn't get what their deal was, but maybe that was the point.

The kitchen door opened quietly, and Elizabeth, dressed to kill, peeked in comically. When she saw only Sophie, her face lit with relief. "Sophie. Hey." She turned and quietly shut the door. "Are Mom and Dad still up?"

"Nah, they went to bed about half an hour ago," she sucked the hot chocolate off the spoon before setting it down. "Where've you been?"

"Out," Elizabeth began to move through the kitchen, finding her favorite mug and a tea bag. Her steps were quicker than normal.

"Are you _drunk_?" Sophie asked, slightly scandalized. Still, she was vicariously thrilled. Their parents were cautiously realistic about drinking, but still had definite issues when theory became practice.

"A little. I went out for a drink."

"At that bar you always used to sneak into?"

"How'd you know about that?"

Sophie was confused. "Mom and Dad. Duh." They'd told her years ago, in eighth grade, probably; used it as an example of how they were all-seeing and all-knowing.

"Of course they would know and not tell me," Elizabeth muttered, lazily swishing the tea bag.

"Anyways, who'd you go with?" she gulped her hot chocolate. "Do you _know_ anyone your age in Princeton anymore?"

"Who said it was someone my age?" Sophie was even more confused, and Elizabeth relented. "It was Luke Haxby." Sophie was still confused, though the name sounded familiar. "He's one of Dad's fellows?"

"You went on a date with one of Dad's _doctors_?" Sophie said. "How old is he?" It sounded repulsive, but it also sounded like something that Elizabeth would do: She liked to intentionally provoke her parents (at 13 she dyed her hair a red so bright it practically pulsated; she accepted that I.D. from the creepy Princeton boyfriend; she would come home smelling like pot every 4/20 just to make them mad and start a fight), but she always did so within a carefully self-constructed set of middle-class parameters, so nobody, especially Elizabeth, was harmed. It was sort of silly, in Sophie's opinion. Elizabeth thought she got away with lots, had cultivated an image of cavalier hipster-esque behavior, but she was really massively concerned with other people's opinions, her grades, and everything that went along with those. The "rebelliousness" was not actually anything, and was a dumb way to get kicks.

"I asked him, it wasn't a date, I was feeling experimental," Elizabeth explained impatiently, avoiding the question. "How was Jake?"

Sophie bit her lip. She'd been dating Jake since the beginning of the school year, and he was a genuinely nice guy. Funny. Silly, but a little dumb. Unfortunately, her mother's annoying reservations rang constantly in her ear: _Drexel_? He's not on the High Honor Roll? What do you mean, 'he doesn't _like_ school'? Her mother's irritation made her want to stay with Jake even more; unfortunately, it made her like him even less.

"It was good," she said. "Movie at his place with a couple of friends." They'd gotten into a fight, about something stupid.

"Mom still hate him?"

"Not as much, now that she figures we're going to break up soon."

"You could stay with him, just to spite her," Elizabeth suggested.

"Not my style. I do _like_ him, I just think it'd be pointless to stay together when I'm in Providence and he's in Philadelphia. He wants to try though, so we'll see."

Elizabeth nodded. "Makes sense. Can't wait till he meets House, though."

Sophie's brows creased. "Why would he meet House?" She'd had House catch her kissing her then-boyfriend under the mistletoe at the family's Christmas party when she was fourteen; she would never introduce a boyfriend to House, ever. Maybe not even at her wedding. If House even made it, she thought sadly.

"Because when he moves in, and I guess Jake will come over?"

"_House _is moving in?"

Elizabeth looked like she smelled something foul. "Mom and Dad didn't mention that?" Sophie shook her head. "Oh. Well, House needs someone to stay with him, and we have a first-floor guest room. So Mom, Dad, and Wilson decided that he's coming with us."

"He couldn't go with Cuddy?"

"Nope, she said no or something. Mom and Dad know more. House is having surgery tomorrow, and then moving in sometime next week, I guess."

Sophie raised her eyebrows. She adored House, but he was wearying. She didn't know how long she could take his constant scrutiny and presence. "He is?"

"Yeah."

"For how long?"

"_No_ clue. I won't be here, anyways," Elizabeth pointed out.

"College is awesome. You get to run away from your family for the boring stuff and come back for the scenes," Sophie grumbled.

"Believe me, every hour at college is a scene in itself," Elizabeth said.

"Yeah, from a _fun_ movie," Sophie retorted. She drained the last of her hot chocolate. "I'm going to bed. G'night, Lizzy."

"Night," Elizabeth said distractedly, then added, "Hey, Soph?"

"Yeah?"

"You busy tomorrow morning?"

"I need to run. Then I have rehearsals in the afternoon."

"You got time to run me back to the bar to pick up the car? Luke wouldn't let me drive. I'll give you … something really cool."

Sophie laughed. "It's fine. Yeah, I'll drive you back."

She padded upstairs, but instead of slipping into her room, she softly opened Claire's door and slipped in, rolling onto the free side of her twin's double bed.

Feeling the springs shift, Claire opened her eyes a crack and mumbled, "Soph? What are you _doing_?"

"We always used to do this," Sophie said.

"Yeah, well it's been a while. And only for the important stuff."

"Did you know House is moving in?"

"What? No," Claire propped herself up on an elbow. "When?"

"Sometime this week. Because of the stroke, I guess. Have you talked to Mom? Can he walk?"

"No clue," Claire said sleepily, leaning her head back down. "Can we solve this tomorrow? How was Jake?"

"Jake…wanted to enroll in a frequent-flyer program so that he could fly up to see me every other weekend."

"That's sweet," her sister's voice was cautious, but sleepy.

"Yeah," she sighed. "But is it what I want?"

"Who cares? College is _months_ away."

"Yeah, but I feel like … Like, when we started dating I didn't think it was going to last. He was fun, and I needed to have fun. And then he turned into a better boyfriend that I ever expected him to be and I stayed with him. And now I don't know. College. I don't know if I want to stay together then, but I don't want to make that decision _now. _I mean, prom's in two months."

"You can't _use _him like that," Claire murmured.

"That's easy for you to say," Sophie said, stung. Claire was adorable, and dated, but she didn't "do" serious relationships—she was always too busy, she claimed, running a million clubs and racking up volunteer hours at PPTH. She wanted to devote time to someone, and she didn't have time. Sophie always felt that her goals were slightly inadequate compared to Claire's. Claire wanted to save lives and help humanity and was trying to do so already in a million ways; Sophie wanted to get a law degree. Claire also took harder science classes than she, which meant she was always doing homework.

"Yes, but it's also, you know, the right thing. That thing that you're supposed to do."

"I'm not _using_ him; I still like him and want to date. I just don't see us staying together in college, and I don't see why he wants to talk about it right now. Let's just enjoy this time, you know?"

"Yeah. So tell him that," Claire turned over. "But, you know, try and be nice about it."

"I did try telling him."

"And?"

"He still wanted to buy the miles. They're cheap right now."

"He doesn't have to use them to fly and visit you," Claire said. "And I, for one, think it's really sweet of him."

"Thanks for your advice."

"You're welcome. Now I'm going to sleep. Get out or shut up."

Sophie yanked the covers up and slid under. "G'night, Ceece." She plumped her pillow and shoved her head down.


	11. Between What's Wrong and Right

**Disclaimer **in part one

* * *

_The Space Between_

_The Tears We Cry_

_Is the Laughter that Keeps Us Coming Back for More_

_The Space Between_

_The Wicked Lies_

_And Hope to Keep Us Safe From the Pain_

_--The Dave Matthews Band "The Space Between"_

"A family meeting?" Claire asked. "But ... with Wilson?"

Allison smiled and sighed. "Yeah. Wilson called it."

"Wait—explain to me then how someone _outside_ the family can call a family meeting? Like, wouldn't that defeat the purpose of it being familial? Wouldn't it just me a meeting, with six people from our family plus Wilson?"

"If you want to phrase it that way, okay," Allison said, pouring herself a glass of OJ. "He's coming over around 1:00. I'm thinking of having your father grill shrimp for dinner?"

"Shrimp on the barbie sounds good," Claire said, affecting her father's accent. "Why's Wilson coming?"

"I don't know," Allison sighed. Wilson's call had been quite vague, but he'd been quite persistent. "I told him that he could come over at one, I figured your dad and siblings would be back from church, we could have lunch, and we could still get Lizzy on a train before dinner. Also, why aren't you at church with Sophie and Rocco?"

"I'm worried about this Chem test," Claire said, picking up her set of flashcards again. "And you and Elizabeth didn't go."

"Elizabeth had to pack," Allison said. She'd simply wanted an extra hour of sleep. She knew that she should spend this time cleaning the living room (which was a sty thanks to Rocco) or something, but she just wanted to sit. Robert had quietly reaccepted a sort of benign Catholicism as the kids grew, and the entire family—Allison still questioned the value of organized religion and especially the deeper, heavier aspects of Catholicism, but had retained a sort of humanistic faith, and had gone to church as a kid and acknowledged that it was steadying force in a child's life—typically went to Mass about three times a month. She'd just been exhausted this morning.

"Yeah, that's why _you're_ not there," Claire said. She let it drop, though, and said, "Want to quiz me?"

Rocco, Robert, and Sophie came back considerably later than normal from church that morning, at almost 12:30. Robert carried a large Target bag. "Hey," Allison said, leaning up so Robert would kiss her. "Wilson's coming over in about half an hour. He wants to talk about House, I think. What's in the bag?"

"You'll see," Robert said mysteriously.

"I was thinking we could grill shrimp for dinner?" Allison continued. Rocco and Sophie began to move around the kitchen preparing sandwiches for lunch.

"Sounds good," Robert said, pulling a half-dozen photo frames out of the bag.

"Picture frames?" Claire asked lifting one.

"Yep. Be right back," Robert said, strolling into the living room. Allison shrugged and went back to quizzing Claire. Robert came back with two photo albums and two photo boxes.

"You're putting photos in frames?" Allison asked skeptically.

"Yep," he said, beginning to thumb through the album's pages.

"He wouldn't tell us what he was doing when we stopped at Target, either," Sophie said, sitting down with a turkey sandwich. Allison eyed the frames suspiciously; they were a dark, reddish wood, a color that wouldn't go well in the living room. She shook her head.

Wilson came over just as the kids were finishing up their sandwiches. She let him in, led him to the kitchen, and then yelled at Elizabeth until she came down the stairs. Finally she bounded into the kitchen.

"What are you up to, Dad?" she asked, looking at his pile.

"Framing photos," he replied.

Elizabeth flipped one over, then another, and then asked, in a tone that indicated she didn't want to know the answer, "Are these going into your office?"

"Yeah," he said. "So what's up, Wilson?"

Elizabeth continued to check over his work. "Dad? Why are these photos _all _of me when I'm like, eight?"

"No, they're not. See, Rocco's in that one," he replied. Allison glanced at the photo; Rocco was a log of a newborn and Elizabeth was an overly excited third-grader.

"Dad," she said, and Allison suddenly realized what Robert was doing, and laughed into her coffee. The other three and Wilson seemed confused though, so she just motioned to them to continue to pay attention. "You wouldn't be taking all these photos of me as a pre-teen into the office to make Luke Haxby feel uncomfortable, would you?"

"Why would I do that?" Robert deadpanned as he snapped the last photo into the frame. "It would be completely unprofessional to screw with one of my employees that way."

"Dad!" Elizabeth practically howled. "It would be! You can just let it _drop_, okay?"

"Oh, no, this is too good," Robert said.

"Mom!" Elizabeth said. "Help?"

"No way. Don't ask a 30-year-old out next time," Allison sipped her coffee again. "What's up, Wilson?"

Her question distracted him from the amusing family drama. "Ah, yes, of course, Cameron." He sat down. "I wanted to talk about House."

"With all of us?" Robert asked, piling the photos of a pre-teen Elizabeth in the center of the table.

"Yes, actually," he cleared this throat. "As you know, Cuddy went back to Florida yesterday."

"No, we didn't know," Allison said, annoyed. "Why didn't you call us?"

"Oh—the soccer meet. And there was no way I was going to change her mind," he said. "But I did get her to agree to come back in two weeks. She's angry because she doesn't think he's going to change, and she's still hurt by his decision not to move to Florida. But I convinced her that we could get him to change a little bit in just two weeks, and then I think she'll be open to helping convince him to move to Florida."

"House doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do," Allison objected, handing Rocco a napkin. He'd gotten mayo all over his chin.

"I think he can be convinced," Wilson repeated.

"How?" Robert asked. "And why, exactly, are you trying to convince _us_ of this?"

"I need you guys to help me," Wilson said. "I mean, if Cuddy comes and takes him, he won't be in your offices daily, and he won't be in your guest bedroom stealing all your food."

"So what's your plan?" Robert said slowly.

Wilson looked a little nervous. "Keep him away from the hospital. And all hospital business. You guys shouldn't tell him _anything_ about what's going on in the hospital, especially Diagnostics. Make it seem like you don't need him, don't miss him, think he should go to Florida with Cuddy. Lie if he asks you about interesting cases. We can arrange the PT at the Sloan Center—it's still on campus, and it's actually better for people with less-extensive injuries."

"We can't turn him into a _prisoner_," Allison exclaimed. "That's wrong, and cruel, even. He just had a stroke. If he's upset and wants the hospital, he should be allowed to go to the hospital. It makes him _happier. _Think about what that could _do _to his emotional recovery!" She could feel herself flaring up, and reminded herself this was Wilson, who cared for and knew House very well.

She glanced at Robert, who was cringing. "Wilson, if he's _living_ with us, the last thing I want to do is poke the dragon. That'll just make him miserable, and then he'll take it out on us."

"How do you stop House from doing something he wants to do?" Sophie asked.

"You don't," her father answered darkly. "You don't out-manipulate House." Allison privately agreed. Wilson was decent at it, and Robert was great at deflecting and rebutting, but nobody out-manipulated House in the end.

"You can. It's possible. You just have to make sure he doesn't go into the hospital. You guys are his doctors; you have medical control in this situation. You can do this. Please," Wilson begged. "It'll get him out of your hair earlier."

"So we're supposed to … keep him away from the hospital? But happy?" Claire asked. "Dr. Wilson, seriously, how does that work?" Allison tried not to laugh at this.

"Well, it's easy really," Wilson swiped his hair. "Keep him focused on the recovery, but don't let him realize that you're doing this." Allison couldn't believe that Wilson was actually asking her kids to become involved in messing with House's mind. It really wouldn't work.

"Wilson, we're the ones living with him. I suppose you're going to encourage us to wean him off the Vicodin too?"

"I'm not even suggesting such a thing!" Wilson exclaimed. "Just…he needs to miss Cuddy. Well, he needs to miss Cuddy _and _realize he doesn't need diagnostic puzzles to obsess about. He already misses her."

"Mom, can I just ride over to Tyler's?" Rocco said, looking bored.

"Why don't you go play Wii instead?" she sighed. "Don't you have to be at the pool soon?" Rocco swam extremely competitively, but during soccer season (and playoffs during basketball) he took a break from the pool. Still, his coach had him join practices once a week to keep his technique fresh.

"Yeah, three," he said.

"Good. Lizzy, we'll take you to the train then?"

"Sounds good. I'm packed." Elizabeth replied.

"Guys, please, I promise I won't take up more of your time," Wilson said. "Just, seriously? Please keep him away from the hospital and Diagnostics. I think he'll behave. I know he'll behave. This is an eat-your-vegetables scenario for House; he just doesn't know it yet."

"You _know_ by now that that won't work," Allison said tiredly.

"Maybe not vegetables. This will make him _happy_, it's good for _him _first, it's not about trying to … tweak his morals, or make him cut back on bad habits," Wilson insisted.

Allison shook her head. "You'd better be over every day, Wilson." It wasn't a yes, exactly, but Wilson took it as such.

"Of course," Wilson said. "I think this will really help House, so thank you, guys."

Allison glanced at Robert, who looked skeptical. Still, he finally nodded. "Medically, he shouldn't be moving around that much, so we'll see what we can do."

"So … what? Wait, you have to explain this to us," Claire said. "Like if we're at home with House and you're still at work, what are we supposed to tell him if he wants to go to the hospital."

"He doesn't have enough mobility," Wilson answered promptly.

At Claire's raised eyebrow, Robert said, "Just call Dr. Wilson."

That seemed to satisfy Claire, and Wilson assented sheepishly. "What day do you think he'll be released from the hospital?"

"Wednesday," Robert said. "If the PT is okay with it, he's coming back then. The girls have an EE Day so someone will be home pretty much continuously from noon on, which is when we'll bring him back."

"We're watching House on our EE Day?" Sophie asked, a hint of whine in her voice. EE Days—Educational Enlightenment was the Princeton school district's stupid term for teacher in-service days—were considered somewhat of a holiday; the girls reveled in those three weekday hours not spent in class.

"Yep," Allison said before Claire could start objecting as well. "It's one EE days, girls."

"Yeah, but we only have two left, ever. We were going to have people over to grill a picnic," Claire explained.

"When were you planning on _asking_?"

"Um," Claire looked warily at her mother. "Right now?"

"Neither of you know how to grill," Robert pointed out.

"Okay, maybe it wasn't quite thought out," Sophie backtracked, "but still, it's an EE Day…"

"I cleared my schedule and'll be home at three; why don't you guys have people over on Sunday?" Allison offered in a tone that she hoped blared "final decision." When both girls nodded and sat back a little, she nodded and turned back to Wilson. "And you'll be over as well on Wednesday?"

He nodded gratefully. "Of course. Whenever you need anything, just call me or Leah. We're happy to help out."

"Thanks," Allison said, getting up to show him out. "Say hi to Leah and Rebecca," she called, shutting the door behind her.

Returning to the kitchen, she found Robert repeating Wilson's cell number so that Sophie, Claire, and Rocco could enter it into their phone books. "Seriously, if House _ever_ gets to be too much, call Wilson. Well, call us first," he amended, "but then call Wilson."

"Don't you think you're overreacting a little to House?" Sophie asked.

"No idea. Just be prepared," her father shot back. Allison rolled her eyes, which Robert caught and shrugged. "Wilson knows best with House, but this is really borderline insulting to his intelligence and his wishes. And I don't want to deal with these opposing complexes at work here."

"It's not like going into a war zone, Daddy," Claire said sensibly.

"Wilson and House want different things for each other. It is the definition of a war zone," Robert replied.

Allison laughed, rolling her eyes again. Rob was right, to a point …

"What?" he asked indignantly. "You think I'm overreacting."

"A little," she said. "House'll be … House. Wilson'll be Wilson. If Wilson thinks this will make House happy in the long run, we can give it a shot."

"This is _classic_ Wilson and House," Chase said. "Think about those times when he'd arrange for a House detox, or to infuse House with some humility. Wilson gets it into him that he can do something right by House, so he gets sneaky, House gets worse, House out-manipulates him anyways, Wilson gives House a speech to make a point, House realizes the point but doesn't give Wilson credit. Now," he continued, "I'm fine with this because, medically, House shouldn't be coming into the hospital, and, professionally, it'll make my job a damn sight easier. But you guys shouldn't get caught up in this. It's … it's ridiculous," he finished.

"Very true," Allison agreed. "But it'll be fine. Don't worry," she told the girls. She checked her watch. "Why don't we get going toward the pool and the train station, and we can stop at the hospital and see House before you go?" she asked Elizabeth.

"Good idea," Elizabeth said. "I'll go get my suitcase."

"Great, I can take these into the office as well," Robert scooped up the picture frames, smirking.

The visit to House was a wash—he was sleeping and refused to wake up—so they ended up taking Lizzy to an earlier train before Rocco needed to be at swim practice. "We'll see you a month or so, then?" Allison asked, hugging her. "Are you, Katch, Mad, and Annie still planning on coming down during Reading Days?"

"Of course," Elizabeth said. She and the three girls who became her roommates starting sophomore year had started coming down to Princeton during their Reading Days at the beginning of their freshman year. Katch, Mad, and Annie (whose real names—Kachina, Madchen, and Anouk—always made Allison shake her head) were from Arizona, London, and Los Angeles, respectively, and had needed a dose of home the first time the stress of finals rolled around. Now it was just tradition. The girls usually came one morning and stayed the night, spending their time studying, baking, and seeing silly movies. "We'll call you to arrange the days," she promised.

Rob hugged her, tightly. "Good to see you, sweets," he said, chucking her under the chin with his thumb. "Next time just don't date my employees."

She smiled. "I'll try," she said, hugging him again. She hugged Rocco next. "I'm sorry for being mean Friday."

"I'm sorry for calling you a grave-robber," he apologized.

"You didn't," she reminded him.

"Not to your face," he corrected. "Can I come up to watch a soccer game this spring?"

"As long as you promise not to hit on my roommates again."

"Anouk's hot!" he retorted sassily. "Pick less-hot friends."

"I … really can't say anything now after Haxby, can I?" she said ruefully, hugging the three of them again before stepping on the NJ Transit train. "Bye guys!" she yelled out the window as the train took off. "I'll miss you! Love you!" They watched her until the train was only an imagined wisp in the distance.


	12. Born in a CrossFire Hurricane

**Disclaimer **in part one

Little long, but SO worth it! Pleae read and review! The translation is at the bottom, and the reason why Chase speaks German is laid out in my other fic "'Tis the Season." You should go check it out!

* * *

_But it's all right now, it's a gas!_

_--Rolling Stones, "Jumping Jack Flash"_

House started counting hours left as a patient after his surgery on Saturday. The first nurse cried Sunday, after Wilson told him Cuddy had gone. By Monday he was restless and snappy, even though Cameron had made sure his new room had TV. He found the most susceptible-looking non-Indian orderly (easier to bribe) and got a wheelchair. He ran his fingers over his latest bandages, briefly touching the scar tissue from the shooting. His body was a map; scars formed knobby, raised paths leading to nowhere. And that, he realized, wasn't even considering the war zone of his internal organs. He wrapped his gown more tightly around him, his hands shaking clumsily as he did so. He tried gripping the wheels to guide himself, but realized he could no longer do that. Damn. Maybe he should've woken up when the perky Asian PT had come in.

"Hey, you, O'Malley," he yelled toward the red-haired orderly. "Come here. Grab my wallet."

"My name's Anthony Samuelson, Dr. House," the kid said obediently. "Not O'Malley."

"I _know_ it's not O'Malley," House replied. This kid was boring. "Grab my wallet."

The kid grabbed it, passed it to House. With hands trembling like leaves, he opened his wallet flat in his palm and extracted two fifties. "Here," he said, passing them to O'Malley. "Take them. Now take me to the Diagnostics department."

"Sir, I think you need rest."

"Take my damn money. Don't worry about your boss. She's sleeping with that tall radiation tech with a fiancé and a kid, just blackmail her. And don't think I don't know where you go on your breaks," he let his words hang over O'Malley.

His eyes widened in shock, but he did recover quickly. "You said the Diagnostics lounge?"

House smiled. "Yeah, grab my jacket." The kid handed it over quickly and started pushing him toward the elevator.

They did run into Hartmann, of course, but the man was not only scared of Cameron but intimidated by her slightly built teenagers. He didn't even say anything to House, just smiled and turned quickly on his heel.

O'Malley got him barely into the conference room and immediately left. The team Haxby wasn't on was there, filling out paperwork, and the Blonde Bombshell stood as he came in. "Dr. House?" she asked anxiously. "How are you doing?" she got out her phone and started thumbing a text message.

"Chipper," he said. "For some reason someone took a bunch of thread and had fun with my stomach. Don't know why, though," he raised his eyebrows, and the Blonde Bombshell tossed out a sad, pathetic little smile. He stared at her breasts, just to make her uncomfortable. It worked. She shifted under his gaze, unconsciously tugged her shirt higher.

"Well, I'm glad you're alright," she said. "Do you … want coffee?"

"Yeah, hand the guy who just had a stroke a ceramic cup of coffee. Great idea. Done any MRIs on people with pins in their arms lately? You still use gloves, though, when you draw blood, right? Good."

"House," Chase said from behind him. "Which orderly did you pay off?"

"O'Malley," House said, trying to wheel around to face Chase. When that obviously wasn't going to work, Chase sighed and walked up behind him, wheeling him and his IV pole out to Chase's office area. He parked the wheelchair in front of his desk and sat behind it. Chase wore scrubs, which meant he was down in the ICU scouting for cases, so neither team had one. "Nice new decorations," he commented. "New photos?"

"Old photos, actually," Chase said, spinning to admire his gallery of Elizabeth photos. "Thought it would spice up the office."

"I like it," House said. "What's Haxby think?"

"Not really sure; kid just blushed a lot. DIdn't look me in the eye, either. He got boring so I sent him to cover the Clinic," Chase replied. "So why are you out of your room? And seriously, the orderly. We don't have any O'Malleys. Give him up."

"Not a chance."

"How much did he take you for?"

"Hundred dollars. Not going back until I get at _least _100 dollars worth of amusement here. Where's Haxby? Let me at him."

"House, you can't come and torture my staff. Also, that means no staring at Dr. Bromsky's chest. Now, why, if you're able to bribe an orderly into bringing you here, how come the PT was unable to wake you this morning?" Chase raised his eyebrows, obviously knowing no reply would be forthcoming. "Come on, let's go visit Linda." He got up and started to push the chair toward the elevators. "You'll be out of here in 48 hours if you don't do anything stupid, like rip out your stitches by trying to walk too much. Or getting your blood pressure up too high by annoying my teams."

"Yeah, that'll cause another clot around my kidneys to break off and head straight for my head."

"Nah, I'll just keep you in an extra day to screw with you." Chase pushed the Up button. "What? You don't like that." House chose not to answer. "Seriously. It's two days. Stay out of my office, don't bother my team, work hard on PT so you'll bounce back quicker. And if you don't take PT seriously Kutner offered to come up from Baltimore to run it, and I doubt he'll be as accommodating as Linda."

"Nobody is ever as accommodating as an Asian girl," House muttered.

Chase wheeled him into the elevator and they wheeled out on the seventh floor. He walked him down to the Widener Wing. "Hey, Caroline," he called to the receptionist. "Look who woke up and wandered over to Diagnostics. Linda available?"

She was, unfortunately, and Chase grinned as she started pushing him away. Chase grabbed the handle back, though, and said, "House, I'm serious. I don't want to see you out of your room till Wednesday when you move into our house. However, if you _do_ do outpatient PT today and tomorrow, remember that you're closer in proximity to Cameron's office right now." House smirked despite himself.

The next two days were interminable, but he dreaded the end of the countdown. Whatever Chase and Cameron were to him, they weren't Wilson. Plus, they were busy as hell at the hospital and with the kids. He liked them more than he liked most people and they were still good doctors, but they'd disappointed him with how boring they'd become. Well, he'd always known Cameron would go boring when she had kids, but Chase he'd held out hope for. Instead they were conventional, responsible, slightly boring parents. Kids always first, kids were considered breakable. They were puzzles solved ages ago; their reactions predictable and easy. And their children were even easier—he'd known them since birth, and their parents insisted on working their damndest to make sure they _weren't_ screwed-up and interesting.

But even Wilson was no longer Wilson, he was James, the father and upstanding husband. And he didn't even have Cuddy any longer, ever since she fled to her Floridian sanctuary under the cover of darkness. He frowned. He'd felt old for many years, but this was the first he felt as if he'd missed a step in the aging process.

Wilson was waiting for him when he came back from PT on Wednesday. "Hey," he called gently. "You're being discharged. Cameron's already at the house because she realized you needed a ramp. She's there now, glaring at them to make them move faster."

"Please. She's force-feeding them lemonade," House said. He was dressed in jeans that felt looser than ever and a button-down shirt. His legs felt perpetually tingly; the area around his scarring actually felt numb. Linda hadn't been pleased at that; had pursed her lips and muttered something about crossing bridges in due time. She'd then given him a ball, ordered him to make fists. He had, and then chucked it at her head.

The drive from the hospital was short; Chase still kept on-call hours and needed to be close to the hospital. They lived between a class professor and the president of a local think-tank. The house was large, of course, grey stone and wood painted a washed-out blue, with a massive front porch swathed across the front and a sloping grey-shingled roof. There was a two-story garage behind the house, and a back entrance accessed through a small screened-in porch. "The porch entrance should be accessible," Wilson said as they drove up.

Wilson got him out of the car and up the screened-in porch's new ramp before awkwardly throwing open the door. Cameron, silhouetted against the front windows, was reading a newspaper and eating what looked like a cold pasta salad at the table. She jumped as soon as she heard the door open.

"Wilson, House. Hey," she smiled. "Come on in."

"Hey, Cameron," Wilson said in his smiley voice.

"How're you feeling, House?"

"I'm fine."

"I know. Come on in. We just completely forgot about the ramp, the kids will be surprised when they come home and see it. Anyways, do you want to see the guest bedroom? I don't know if you remember where it is." Chase and Cameron had had a housewarming party when they bought the house, before the twins were born, and Cuddy had forced him to come. There'd been other parties, but they were always in the backyard or in the main rooms of the house.

"Yeah, I remember it. By that lair Chase claimed?"

She beamed. "Yeah, it's by Robert's den," she said. "Come on." They walked out a back entrance to the kitchen, passed the laundry room and then went into the big great room, which dominated the majority of the first floor. They were very close to the row of window seats that covered most of the back wall and looked out over the back yard, where House could see the grilling pit and a soccer goal framed between two oaks.

The wall opposite the kitchen was covered in nearly three decades' worth of photos; it was Cameron's—and Chase's by extension—attempt to portray a fairy-tale family. He couldn't exactly blame them (God knows it was an often-felt impulse by parents) but he thought the wall was overkill. It was dominated by a black-and-white candid of Chase and Cameron at their wedding reception: Chase, his tie loosely dangling and the top two buttons undone, had his arm on the couch back and was leaning on his elbow to prop up his head; Cameron was spread down the length of the couch, her head in his lap, her hair unpinned from its elaborate updo, her shoes off, and her knees bent into a triangle, skirt pouring down to the ground. They were looking at each other, not the camera, and laughing, their clasped hands wavering near Chase's heart. It was a good photo, but simply massive. The rest of the photos started just before the wedding—an engagement-bash photo, a vacation photo—and continued through the quick births of the three girls, through their toddlerhoods, first days of school, family vacations, Rocco's arrival, more vacations, sporting events, right up through the family's latest vacation, in Paris to visit Elizabeth last summer.

"Got enough photos?" House snarked.

Cameron rolled her eyes. "We _like_ taking photos," she said. House disagreed; photos simply preserved a mystique. Cameron and Chase didn't tell their kids _anything_. It was why the meth revelation had been so fun; Elizabeth hadn't realized her parents didn't start dating the day they met.

They were in the guest room now; he had to admit it was nice. Large, with a queen-sized in the middle, it had windows on two walls looking out onto the backyard. He could see the neighbors as well. There was a desk, and a dresser with a television on top.

"There's Pay Per View, but _please_ don't order porn. I don't want Rocco to have an excuse to invite 12-year-old boys over more than he already does."

"He'll be cooler," House offered.

"Hey, I raise cool kids," Cameron joked. "Now, do you need any help unpacking? Or anything, really?"

"The luggage is in the car, still," Wilson said. "Let's go grab that."

The two of them left him; when they came back, the twins were with them.

"Hey, House," Sophie flopped down on the bed. "What's up? You like the room?"

These kids could kill him with their niceness. He couldn't rile them, couldn't offend them. He had tried many, many times to provoke some sort of reaction, and he simply couldn't get it, so he stopped trying. "It's great. Are your next-door neighbors nudists?" He nodded toward the windows.

Sophie laughed. "Even if Professor Carmichael _was_ a nudist, you wouldn't want to look."

"Not at the wife, either," Claire shuddered.

"Don't be nasty to the neighbors," Cameron said, setting down a suitcase.

"I'm not being _nasty _to them, they're not in the room," Sophie said reasonably.

"It doesn't make it _nice_," Cameron 's voice took on a hint of a huff. "House, do you want me to unpack your stuff?"

He shrugged. "Wilson'll do it."

When Wilson assented, Cameron said, "Alright. I need to get back to the hospital; I had to rearrange a few patients because of the ramp thing. Now, three mornings a week you're going to do PT at the Sloan Center and then—"

"Why can't I do it at the hospital?" House cut in, suspicious.

"You can, some days," Cameron looked extremely frazzled, and relapsed into whiny-fellow mode. "But honestly, the Sloan Center is better for rehab like this than going into the hospital. There you'd be surrounded by sicker people, and your mobility is pretty compromised, but not at _that_ level. Plus the OT is more integrated into the PT at Sloan."

"I _want_ that trip to the hospital," House butted in.

"House, it's better this way," Cameron stood her ground. "The other two days you'll have afternoon PT—that's Tuesday and Friday—and there's a home-health nurse, Rhea, to come in the mornings. Wilson'll be coming over around lunch, or you know, Robert and I can stop by and take you down to PT. The other afternoons you have free."

"I'll be coming over, probably." Wilson said.

"And then it obviously depends on the day, but everyone usually converges and eats around seven," Cameron finished.

"Who cooks?" he asked skeptically.

"We take turns," she scowled. "Yours is tonight if you keep it up."

"Jeez, why didn't you _tell_ me you were leaving me with Nurse Ratched?"

"I think you'll be able to handle yourself," Wilson said. "Let's go watch some TV."

"Beer in the fridge, don't give it to the girls. Or Rocco," Cameron said. "I'm running late; call me if you need anything." She kissed both her daughters and rushed out.

Sophie lazily raised her head. "Anyone want to play Monopoly?"

"Please," House said, signaling for Wilson to take his wheelchair. "Have either of you done any horse-race betting?"

Chase came back first, with Rocco, whom he'd picked up from … some sports practice, according to Sophie. According to Claire, the second perk of an EE Day was that every after-school activity got cancelled because teachers had work sessions all afternoon. Thus, the four of them were spread haphazardly on the living-room furniture, candy stacked in front of them as they rooted for their horses.

Chase stopped as soon as he walked in. "You guys are _so _lucky that you're mother didn't come home first."

Sophie glanced up at her father. "Here. Have a Hershey's kiss. I've been doing really well." She lobbed one at him, and he caught it effortlessly before handing it off to Rocco.

"I wanna play," Rocco said. "What do you do?"

"Take a pile of candy," House instructed. "And watch the master."

"Whatever," Chase laughed, shrugging off his jacket. "Anyways, your mom—Allison—Cameron—" he shook his head again, "had to admit her last patient _and_ finish up some grant for someone in pathology so she'll be late tonight. And since Rocco has basketball in an hour—"

"I thought you were _at_ basketball?" Sophie asked.

"No, I was at _soccer_. Glad you care," Rocco shot back, paying more attention to the TV.

"Guys! Important announcement," Chase waved his arms. "Pizza will be here in 5 minutes. Wilson, do you want to stay?"

He grinned. "Yes, please. It's Mommy and Me Yoga night. They'll be at the Y till 8."

"Mommy and Me _Yoga_? Seriously?" House felt vaguely repulsed.

"It's … bonding," Wilson offered lamely. Since he seemed to be expecting a comment, House held back.

"Dad, after dinner can you run songs with me?" Sophie said. "I think it's _really stupid_ that we're not rehearsing tonight but we aren't and I need to practice."

Chase nodded. "Sure. But I'm _not_ playing 'Seasons of Love' one more time."

"I need to work on 'Take Me or Leave Me' anyways," Sophie said.

"When do I get to see your daughter be a bisexual stripper, again?" House called as Chase walked back into the kitchen.

"Six weeks," Sophie huffed. "See how bad it is we don't have rehearsals? But _of course_ they schedule rehearsals on track meet days and during dance class and when I'm tutoring, but a simple Wednesday?" She shook her head.

"Rocco! Sophia! Claire!" Chase yelled from the kitchen. "Rocco, get drinks for everyone; Soph, set the table; Claire, can you make a salad?" He came into the great room with his hands full.

"Way to help out, Dad," Sophie snarked, groaning as she got up.

"I just had a 12-hour shift," he retorted, handing Wilson a beer and House a Dixie cup of pills and a glass of water. "And you spent your afternoon learning how to gamble and swear in Mandarin. Do you have your Vicodin back?" House nodded.

"Portuguese, actually," Sophie stalked off.

"It'll come in handy when they run away to Carnavale," House explained, grabbing the pills and swallowing them dry.

Cameron came home halfway through dinner and grabbed a slice before hustling Rocco out the door to basketball because she was afraid he'd be late. "Don't forget I have Pilates tonight," Cameron yelled as they ran out the door. Chase's face said that he had.

After making the twins clear the table, Claire went on a run and Sophie claimed Chase for the next hour. Chase's fingers moved familiarly through the scales as Sophie hummed at his side, before switching into chords and then warm-up melodies. Wilson found a Mets game. House tried to concentrate on it (they were losing; they needed him) but eventually Sophie's warbling got the best of him.

"Hey! Captain and Liesl," he yelled. "The game's on."

"Go and watch in your room, or my den, House," Chase said, moving his fingers through a short passage.

"Use your middle finger to cross over the index finger," House yelled as Wilson wheeled him out. "Since when does he play?" He flexed his fingers almost subconsciously, remembering the feeling of the keys under them.

"He took organ and piano as a kid. And violin," Wilson said, pushing him into the den. "Cameron played piano, too."

"Yeah, but nobody _stays_ playing."

"You did," Wilson pointed out, turning on the TV and adjusting the volume. "And he's actually quite good, too."

Wilson left shortly before eight, and after the game was finished, Chase popped his head into "his" den. "Hey House," he said. "Want to play some chess?"

House smirked. "You're on."

From the corner, Chase pulled a marble chess set inlaid into a small, round mahogany table. The pieces hid in a small drawer under the board, and House stared at the set as Chase placed the pieces. "Where'd you get this?" he questioned. He stared at a piece. The craftsmanship was intricate and stunning.

"Great-grandfather. It was made around 1900 in India," he turned a piece over. "He even had it engraved." _Robin Chase_.

"Awfully Czech name," House snarked, looking at his pieces. Black. "You're first."

"Family wasn't Czech, exactly. Brit moved to Prague in the 1850s, Roald Chase. Married a Czech woman but all the sons passed along English names, though by the time my dad came along they didn't speak English anymore." He moved his first pawn.

"So we have Robin… and Roald … and Rowan… and Robert… and Rocco. I see a pattern," House picked up a bishop. It was difficult to slip his fingers between the pieces, and he eventually got the piece by awkwardly using his fingers like pincers to grasp them.

Chase shrugged, slightly uncomfortably. "S'why Allison wanted to name Rocco Rocco. There was a Ronald and a Rolf in there, too. Just kinda happened. Little ridiculous." He moved his knight. "Wasn't all of that in my file? The one you memorized?"

"Oh, don't give yourself that much credit," House volleyed. "You know how many files I've sneaked in the past god-knows-how-many years?"

They played two games—House won both, though not easily—and were well into their third when Sophie popped her head in. "Hey Dad?"

"Yeah, hon?"

"Can you help me? I'm doing a Rilke translation for German."

"Sure. Bring it here. You know, House speaks German too."

"Figures," Sophie rolled her eyes, but not unkindly. She sat on the arm of her father's chair. "I'd be surprised if he didn't."

"_Rilke? Welche Breife?" _House asked her.

_"Wie weißt du, dass es einer Breif ist?"_

_"Es ist Rilke."_

_"Stimmt. Nummer Sieben."_

Chase laughed. "You know, House quoted this letter at our wedding?"

"Really? What'd you say?" Sophie looked delighted.

Chase cocked his head. "Which part did you quote, again?"

House snorted. "Hell if I remember. "

"Ah, got it," Chase said. "First he made a bunch of jokes at our expense. I think Wilson and Cuddy had bribed him, though, to make sure he didn't say anything _too _mean to set your mother off, because she was pretty stressed out—" House nodded. This was true. Cuddy would have killed him if he made Cameron cry that day. "And then after he'd gotten enough laughs at our expense he brought up the part about young people having to learn about love, and how the fact that we were pretty 'old' meant we'd taken that part seriously, and he did think we were smart to have known each other for so long before getting married, because he didn't think he—or us, he was being generous—could handle being together when we first met. Then he brought up the section about love calling you to vast and better things, and said he thought we were doing pretty well so far, and we'd definitely both become less—what was it you said, House?" Chase smirked.

"I said you'd become significantly less whiny in the past couple years. I was being benevolent with the 'significantly.'" He turned to Sophie. "Your mother especially could only go up."

Sophie smiled, her arm around her father's neck. "What else?"

"And then he quoted the most famous quote—you know, _love is difficult. F__or one human being to love another: that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation._—and told us that making it to the wedding meant that we didn't fail, and he'd grade us again later. And then he joked that he'd be in the corner taking bets on us all night."

"Your mom's grandmother got really mad," House recalled. "She threatened to hit me with her purse."

"She thought it was bad luck," Chase grinned.

"She didn't realize I was stoned out of my mind and was completely speaking off the fly," House explained. Chase's expression shifted to something more covered, and he quickly reached for Sophie's German book.

"What do you have?" he asked.

"This part, you know the really famous part," she said. "It starts with 'auch, zu lieben ist gut.' But I sort of looked at the English translation, and it says, 'to love is good.' Shouldn't there be an "also" somewhere, then?"

The three of them fiddled with the translation for a while, finally struck a balance between the original German and Sophie's English version. Sophie left to do vocab, and Chase resumed the game, picking up a pawn and waving it contemplatively over the board. "I wish you wouldn't say stuff about how stoned you were at our wedding to our kids," he said, finally placing the pawn.

"It's fact," House stared at the board.

"Yeah, but it's not a fact they _need_ to know. The story doesn't get better if they know you're high. It's a good story, about how a tough-to-get-to family friend who they know rides their parents a lot really came through and delivered a great toast. The high … it doesn't make it funny, especially when Sophie's 18 and we try and keep her away from experimenting with drugs. Your story just makes a Vicodin high sound cool."

"The toast wouldn't've happened if I wasn't high. It's an integral part of the story," House said.

"It's just really a section that could've easily been left out, no harm, no foul."

"You think _lying_ to your kids is better than being upfront about the fact that I like pills?"

"They know you like pills. They also still really look up to you. Even if the girls are mostly grown up they still don't view you the way other adults do; it sends mixed signals. Also, it's not a lie, it's an omission."

"You think your kids are far less capable of handling stuff than they actually are."

"I know they're capable of handling plenty," Chase said, his tone even. "That doesn't mean they need to hear stories about you delivering a toast while high, or Allison taking meth. It's just … unnecessary."

"What, you think it's going to change the way they look at you? You think they won't love you anymore?"

"No," Chase moved his knight. "It just complicates the one part of their worldview they don't need complicated. I don't want Sophie or Claire going off to school next year and start using because of easy access to drugs, and their mom did them and House did them, so why not? Elizabeth—and the twins— know that we've both done drugs, recreationally, but she didn't know the circumstances, the events."

"_Elizabeth_," House cut in, "thought it was funny."

"Telling her was _completely_ unnecessary," Chase's tone was firm and dismissive. "Our lives rebooted after having the kids. They're not other adults; they're our kids."

"Oh, so _that_'_s _why you both act like the first thirty-five-odd years of your lives don't exist." House snapped. "If you're so worried about them abusing drugs and alcohol, why don't you tell them about your experiences watching daddy abandon your mommy because she was a drunk, and then how you had to take care of her when she died because she was a drunk? I mean, do they even know how your _father _died—cancer, it's sad, but it's innocuous. No need to get into the latent daddy issues," Chase sucked in his breath, and House knew he'd gotten to him.

"I don't make being high sound glamorous. I'm an almost-seventy-year-old cripple with more scars than a Vietnam vet. I just had my third stroke. The kids know I'm a vile old bastard. You're scared about talking about the past with your kids, and Cameron keeps desperately trying to build this illusion of perfection that none of the kids even realize is there.

"When Elizabeth was 13, she thought she was named after Elizabeth Bennett. You remember? She thought it was because your relationship was like the one in _Pride and Prejudice_, with your Tuesday thing and whatever else you fed them, and Cameron laughed and said that it was good idea but unfortunately you'd never thought of it, but it was a good comparison! No it wasn't! Has Cameron _read Pride and Prejudice_? Or how about how Elizabeth and the twins didn't find out Cameron was married once before until five years ago? And I'm guessing, based on the timing, it wasn't because of you two. It was _right _after Cameron's niece got married. Aunt Amanda have too much to drink and let something slip?" Chase's expression confirmed his guess.

"Enough, House," Chase growled. "Allison and I both worked hard, together, alone, professionally, personally, to get where we are for our kids. And we get to decide if and when they need to learn things about our past. And there _are _things that we don't want to tell them."

"That's bullshit. There are things they don't need to know, like every time their parents have sex, and there're things they should know, like that their parents aren't perfect. Maybe the meth thing fell into the first category, but it's _insulting_ how you don't trust them to know you. They're not four. Your girls are pretty much grown up, and if Rocco's lucky the only things he'll be worrying about in the next seven years is how to lose his virginity, soccer, and grades, in that order." He moved his piece. "After all the pain the two of you experienced before you were Elizabeth's age, you still _expect_ this to help them become strong, or whatever pansy-ass New Agey parental bull that you two keep parroting, when they get watered-down versions of reality?"

"We don't water down their reality. They have boundaries and curfews. They have a normal family life, which _is a good thing. _I think having a strong and supportive family to turn to is going to help them become better adults than having issues would." Chase said, quickly and carelessly moving a bishop to capture a pawn.

"Overprotective parents are why we have so many hypoallergenic kids these days."

"First, it's _not _your place to tell them anything. Allison and I are their parents. And secondly, not telling them unnecessary information that's going to cause unnecessary problems isn't being _overprotective_, it's being a parent!" Chase said.

"What unnecessary information?" Claire called from behind them.

_Shit_. House turned, saw Claire, Rocco behind her, framed in the doorway. Chase's head had whirled around; he hadn't seen them either.

"Hospital crap," Chase said quickly. "_Boring _hospital crap, in fact. What's up?"

"Mom's making popcorn, she wanted to know if you guys wanted any. What game is on?" Rocco seemed to accept the answers, but Claire's eyes—Cameron's eyes—were clouded in suspicion and confusion.

House glanced up at the TV. "Mariners versus Rangers," he said. "Nobody cares about the AL West."

Rocco raised his eyebrows. "Or _baseball_."

"Oh, I forgot. The national pastime of every _other _country is much more important than the one you live in," House's sarcasm was a little sharper than usual, and Rocco flinched before recovering and rolling his eyes.

"Should we bring you some popcorn, then?" Claire asked uncertainly.

Chase stared at the chessboard before gently nudging his king. "You win," he said, his eyes inscrutable. He stood, and gripped House's chair. "Nah, you're right, nobody cares about this game. Let's go eat in the great room, okay?" He began pushing House toward the door. House touched Claire's wrist, and she turned to look at him, the unanswered questions reflected in her eyes.

The translation of the conversation between House and Sophie:

"Rilke? Which letter?"

"How do you know it's a letter?" (Rilke's "Letters" are a very famous collection of German prose)

"It's Rilke." (As in: duh)

"Oh, fine, very true."


	13. Without Me There To Hold You Back

**Disclaimer** in part one.

Just a little short piece because Cuddy rocks.

**Please** keep reading and reviewing. Believe me, it helps with the motivation to write between school/internship/job. It's like clapping if you believe in fairies. Plus you get karma points.

_And all the things that I wished I had not said_

_Are played in loops 'till it's madness in my head_

--_Snow Patrol, "You Could Be Happy"_

Cuddy had chosen her condo partly because of the ocean view, but the 20-yard pool below the fitness room had been a definite perk. She'd grown up in a swimming family; her father coached, she and her siblings swam, her mother hosted the cereal parties. All three of her brothers had returned from college to go to the 1984 Games, and the only event they watched was swimming. They'd even missed Mary Lou, much to her younger sister Anna's dismay.

She'd swum until she was 12, then decided she'd rather date swimmers and dance. She'd missed it starting the day after her decision to quit, but she was never going to give her father the satisfaction of knowing that.

She did her 1,000 yards for the night—it took nearly an hour, but it had taken her over a year to work up to that length and she'd be damned to let it go—before returning to her condo. She had a stunning view of the spring sunset, and stood in front of the window, momentarily paralyzed by the sight.

As if on cue, though, the phone trilled, and she grabbed it without looking at the caller I.D., because she knew she didn't need to. She wondered if that was a bad thing.

"Hey, James," she said, pinching her nose. "What's up?"

"Hey, Lisa," he greeted. "How are you doing?"

"Just fine," she tried to keep her annoyance under control. "How's the weather in Jerz?"

"Oh, you know. Pretty typical April. We wore jackets today. How's Florida?"

"Sunny. Warm. I ran along the beach today in a tank top." She paused and asked the inevitable question. "How's House?" She wondered if she and James could ever be friends independent of House at this point.

"He's good, I think. He moved in with Chase and Cameron today."

"Good," Cuddy stared at a fixed point in the distance.

"I'm optimistic about it. He has about three hours of PT a day, split between the hospital and their home. As much as possible at their home though. We're trying to be really aggressive."

"Aggressive is good," Lisa said absently.

"So how are you?" he asked. He was being remarkably awkward.

"I'm fine," she said. "I had lunch with my tennis partner. I worked on my book. I went shopping for my niece's baby shower." It was her baby sister's youngest daughter, Jamie. She was still in shock that Jamie was old to have children.

"That's nice. What'd you get her?"

Lisa sighed. "James, you know I don't like small talk." Years of donors had given her an irrational fear of meaningless chatter.

He paused. "I'm checking up on you."

"I know."

"It's not because of the House thing," he said. "I just should've been calling you more recently than I have been."

"It's fine," she said. "You have a kid." The word, in relation to Wilson, still felt foreign on her tongue. She wondered if she would ever get over the insane, irrational jealousy of people who had been blessed with the whole-happy-family card.

"How _are_ you?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said. "Really. I like things. I like my condo. I like my tennis league, my golf league. I have a great view, and the swimming pool is amazing. Good shopping. There're a lot of nice people around here. There's the beach. I'm happy." The sentiments were absolutely true—she _was_ happy—yet hearing the thin litany made her feel desperate.

"I'm glad," he said. The two of them hadn't had a falling out, but their contact since her move had been limited. James had actually refocused his priorities around his wife and daughter. She was busy trying to remember how to build friendships; since college, she'd built tight-knit circles of people who understood her manic medical drive, turning those few friends into a surrogate family. Now, adrift in Florida, she needed to remember how to make just plain old friends. It was tough, though, tougher than she'd imagined, and she missed James. He called her every week, then every two weeks, for terse conversations about each other's daily routines.

"Really!" she insisted. "I'm fine. I don't need your Jewish mother complex kicking into overdrive."

"Jewish mother complex?" he chuckled.

"You worry, James. You worry and you feel guilty. Go worry and feel guilty about House, instead of me."

"Everyone's worrying about House right now. I'm just making sure that you're okay," he said.

"I'm a big girl, thank you," she said. "I can take care of myself."

There was a painfully long silence, and Lisa rushed to fill the void. "I'm thinking of going on a little mini-vacation this weekend. My golf partner is on a cruise and I'm a little ahead on the textbook. It's going very well."

"Where were you thinking?" he asked.

"It's still in the planning stages," she said. "Maybe up to Savannah," she pulled a name off the map.

"You know, Leah and I were just talking about how Disney World would probably be a really good experience for Rebecca. The lines might help her with her patience. We were thinking of taking a trip down this summer. Would you like to join us for a day?" She pictured the scene in her mind: People mistaking her and James for Leah's parents, Rebecca's grandparents. It was awful and awkward.

"Sure, we'll see," she promised. She didn't want to spend a day at Disney World out of guilt on both their parts, and began contemplating ways around the trip.

"Well, I'm sorry to cut this conversation short, but Rebecca managed to get gluey fingers before going into the sandbox today at daycare, and Leah informs me that it's my day for bath duty," James finally said. "It was good talking to you, Lisa. Email me your travel plans for next week?"

"Of course. Give my love to Leah and Becca."

"Of course. Good night, Lisa."

They hung up, and Lisa replaced the phone reluctantly. She could make another, easy call. She knew the Cameron-Chase family number by heart, still, as well as both parents' cell phone numbers. And House's cell. They were all easy 10-digit combinations. It wouldn't be a difficult thing.

And yet she couldn't. Her Jewish guilt complex was in hyperdrive, just like James', and yet she couldn't make the call. Her pride, nurtured by her parents and a driving force in the ambition that led to such a fulfilling career, overrode it. She knew she would cave and move back to New Jersey if she called right now. So instead she wrapped herself in blankets and started at the beautiful, lonely sunset. All she could think about was what House would say if he could see her.

Lord, she was pathetic.


	14. A Vacancy That Did Just Not Belong

**Disclaimer **in part one

* * *

_'Cuz I suddenly feel like a different person _

_From the roots of my soul come a gentle coercion_

--_Fiona Apple, "The Child is Gone"_

"What did he _mean_, unnecessary information?" Sophie insisted for the fifteenth time, rolling over onto her stomach. As soon as they finished the popcorn, Claire had motioned for Sophie to go upstairs with her. Since then, Sophie had been looking at the words from every possible angle, practically breaking out a dictionary to parse 'unnecessary' from 'information' from 'problem' from 'argument.'

"I don't _know_," Claire said irritably. "You know, if you're going to mess up the sheets that much, we can hold meetings in your room."

Sophie threw her an annoyed look, but Claire held firm. "You need to start respecting other's property. Your roommate isn't going to like you messing up her stuff all next year."

"My roommate isn't going to be this anal about her covers, because nobody is." Sophie shot back. "That's _all _you heard?"

"Yes, for the sixteenth time." Claire started straightening the books on her bookshelf. "Do you think Lizzy knows anything?"

"Probably not. She always thinks she knows more than she does," Sophie said.

"How 'unnecessary' do you think this information is?" Claire asked.

"You _said _Dad and House were yelling."

"When House is mad he _always _yells."

"Yeah, but Dad hardly ever yells. He gets annoyed but he doesn't yell. Mom yells."

"Do we really want to find out? Like, of _course _Mom and Dad don't tell us everything. Like, I'm sure they still have _sex_ and I don't want to know that." Claire wrinkled her nose prettily, confused by the concept. They were old and married and it was just sort of gross to think about.

"_That's_ different. That's extraneous. If they were yelling it's not unnecessary information. I wanna know, don't you?"

Claire paused. "I don't know. They're our _parents. _We should trust them. We _do _trust them. They're pretty good about being open so what if this is something they _really _don't want to tell us?"

"Then it probably means they _should_."

"Fine. Let's call Lizzy."

"Why?"

"She's closest to House. If he's spilled some of the information that _he _thinks is necessary that Mom and Dad think is unnecessary, she'll be the one to know. And if it's happened while she's in college she probably hasn't shared."

Sophie grinned, and Claire felt proud. "You're good."

Claire dialed her sister, put the phone on speaker. "What's up?" Elizabeth's voice came through the phone.

"Hey, Lizzy," both twins chimed, and Claire added, "It's both of us. We're on speaker."

"Yeah, I got that," Elizabeth sounded amused. "Thanks for calling, by the way. I really don't want to analyze Joyce right now."

"When _would_ you want to analyze Joyce?" Sophie quipped, and Claire shook her head. How her sisters both loved English classes was beyond her.

"Anyways," Claire said uncertainly, and Sophie nudged her, as if to say _your story_. "Anyways, you know House moved in, right?"

"Yeah, how's he doing? I was going to call Dad but got busy."

"He taught us how to bet on horses today," Sophie said. "I love House."

"Ha, I hope Mom doesn't know."

"Not yet," Claire said, and then cleared her throat. "Anyways, he and Dad were playing chess in Dad's den tonight. And Mom was making popcorn and I went to go ask them if they wanted anything, and Rocco and I walked into an argument."

"Between House and _Dad_?" Elizabeth sounded incredulous, but Claire knew it was with good reason: Their dad never fought with House. Mom argued with House, Dad did not.

"Yeah," Claire said quickly. "And it was actually about us. All four of us. Dad said that he and Mom weren't going to share unnecessary information that would cause unnecessary problems with us."

"Unnecessary information?" Elizabeth asked. "Sounds like fun."

"Yeah," Sophie said. "We were hoping … maybe House told you something?"

"About Mom and Dad?" Elizabeth sounded confused. "Not really. He just makes fun of them a lot, but nothing beyond normal. Once … once he let it slip about how Mom and Dad first got together."

"He asked her out about when they started working together, she said no, a couple months later she said yes, then got scared … It was something like that, wasn't it?" Claire had heard the story when she was younger; it was like a cheesy romantic comedy when she already had seen the ending montage on YouTube.

"Not exactly," Elizabeth said. "It's like, like that, if you think about it in a certain way. But mostly it seems like that's sort of a watered-down version, you know, like Mom and Dad told it to us because we were too young for the R-Rated parts."

"There's R-Rated parts?" Sophie sounded curious. Claire groaned.

"Yeah, it's kind of R-Rated. Like, I don't know why, but Mom took meth and booty-called Dad and they had a one-night stand a _long_ time after she figured out Dad liked her. And then later, when they started an _actual_ relationship, it sort of started out as friends-with-benefits and then they got serious."

"That doesn't sound like Mom at _all,_" Claire was appalled. "I mean, by this point, she was working for House, because she knew Dad, right? So she was at _least _twenty-eight. Why would she take the meth?"

"I know, I asked House that," Elizabeth said. "He said they were working on a tough case for her and she freaked temporarily. It didn't sound like a regular thing."

"I mean, when we asked them about drugs they both said they used them a few times but never regularly," Sophie said. Claire remembered that talk, in eighth grade, how brave she'd felt after asking her mom if _she _ever smoked pot.

"That could still be true. I mean, House really made it sound like a one-time thing. And if it was actually a problem House would've had to fire her," Elizabeth said comfortingly.

"How'd they have a … one-night stand, though," Claire could barely say the words, "if they knew each other?"

"Believe me, it's possible," Elizabeth replied.

"Aren't _you _mature," Claire taunted.

"But then, later, she agreed to be friends with benefits?" Sophie asked, shooting a _play nice_ look at Claire.

"Yeah," Elizabeth said, and Claire could hear her shrug. "I mean, it makes sense. … If it doesn't suck, you're going to do it again. I think she started it, in fact."

"It just seems weird," Claire insisted. "I mean, you don't really hear about friends with benefits ending up married." She considered how this news impacted her view of her parents' happiness. It didn't, really; it just felt incongruous.

"I mean, our representative sample of 'friends with benefits' is young," Elizabeth said. "And it probably took a while. They got married three years after they finished their House fellowship, and they worked that for over three years too. It took them a while. I mean," and she started to get confused as she thought, "Mom's said there was a _thing_ from the beginning, which sounds nice, but she never said they started dating right away, I guess, if you think about it. Six years is an awfully long time to date."

"You think _this _is the big secret?" Sophie said skeptically.

"Who says there's a secret?" Claire asked. "I mean, _just because they don't tell us everything_ doesn't mean there's a conspiracy-theory worthy secret. Like, Dad's kind of private. So whatever. They would tell us if we had anything to worry about."

"Maybe it's not life-or-death, but there's probably something big. You said Dad said that it would cause problems, even if it was unnecessary," Elizabeth said. "I don't think that was it, though. House just likes to screw with us. And them. But they have a history of keeping big stuff. Like, remember how we found out about Mom's first marriage? It was big, but it's not like we _needed_ to know it."

Claire nodded, she remembered that day perfectly: It was their cousin Meaghan's wedding, and they'd been sitting with Aunt Amanda, who was drinking G&Ts like they were just tonics. Elizabeth, who was sixteen and a junior at the time, commented that it was amazing how sure Meaghan was that Tim was _the one_, because she was so young. Aunt Amanda had said, "Well, sweetie, she graduated, which is a little farther than your mother got!"

The girls had swarmed their mother. Irritated at her sister, she'd explained everything the next day. It had been big, and Claire had been bothered for a few days, but really, the thing about the revelation that most impacted her life was how upset her mother was for days after.

"I think it's important," Sophie announced. "I want to know."

"Good luck," Elizabeth had trouble containing a snort. "Because Mom and Dad are _great_ at evading questions. And they're pretty good liars, too, if they want to be."

"Mom's not that good," Sophie disagreed. "Maybe she had another kid! Like with what's-his-name."

"Nope," Elizabeth refuted immediately. "Impossible. One, would Mom _ever_ give a kid up? No, especially if the father was about to die. It'd be like a piece of him or something. Two, he was getting chemo and radiation, so he'd be sterile. Three, if by some miracle she _did _get pregnant, Uncle David married Lily the month before he died, and he died three months before Christmas, and we have photos from that Christmas _and_ that wedding, and she wasn't pregnant in either."

"Maybe we should start in the photo albums. God knows there's a billion we've never even bothered to look through," Sophie pondered.

"You know, the more I think about this, the more I don't think it's a good idea. I mean, of course we don't know everything about Mom and Dad," Claire said.

"You keep _saying_ that," Sophie groaned.

"No, hear me out. Like, when you have kids, do you want to hear about _every_ ex-boyfriend, or every stupid decision that you made? Just because House thinks it's important doesn't mean it actually _is._"

"_Dad _thinks it's important, too, and that's why I want to figure out what it _is_," Sophie shot back. "If Dad thinks it's important, it _is_ actually important."

The two stared at each other for several seconds, only stopping when Elizabeth yelled, "Are you two doing the freaky-twin staring contest thing again?"

Claire groaned. "Yes. Sophie won."

"Okay," Elizabeth said. "Now, what are you two going to do, and how can I help?"

"We should talk to House," Sophie said immediately.

"He's not going to say anything after I walked in on that argument," Claire countered.

"Do as House does," Elizabeth suggested. "Observe, find the incongruities, work from there. It's probably not so much a _lie_ as it is an omission or a … tweaking."

"And, if we find something out that would make Mom or Dad uncomfortable, but _isn't_ a betrayal, can we please drop this?" Claire begged. She liked mysteries just as much as Sophie, was just as curious and nosy as Elizabeth, but something about rooting around in her parents' pasts, where they didn't want her, struck her as extremely wrong.

"Promise," Sophie said, irritated. "Now, what do we do?"


	15. I Am Watching, Guarding the Moments

**Disclaimer** in part one

_can't quite put my mind at ease_

_'cause i need to see, see an opening_

_take my arms in and bring_

_bring it together, make it warmer _

_all for me..._

_--Headlights Headlights, "Everybody Needs a Fence to Lean On" _

Allison's sister had once tried to explain the concept of wanting to stay in bed all day. "It's like, you just want to lie there and not get up. Maybe watch a bad soap opera or a movie. You want to forget school," Amanda had said, her tone careful and articulate. "You're upset by something, maybe, or you just don't want to give that presentation in social studies."

Allison had been about thirteen at the time, and had been stymied by Amanda, who would have been about twelve. David, who must've been fifteen, had laughed at Allison's expression. "I just don't get it!" she exclaimed. "I mean, maybe for an _hour_, but there's always something a lot more fun that watching soaps!"

David had glanced at her dubiously, finally pronouncing, "One day you'll understand, Alli. Even you gotta feel burnout sometime."

It had taken over four decades, and Allison finally, finally felt like she could stay in bed all day. She'd wanted an extra hour of sleep at least two days a week since her undergrad years, but never had she felt that she just wanted to burrow deeper into the blankets and disappear.

It had everything to do with House and Robert, and the ridiculous argument they'd gotten in last night. Rob had recounted it to her, his voice growing more baffled as he went through the steps, suddenly unsure of why both of them were angry. House wanted them to tell the kids more secrets? That was ridiculous; they didn't really have secrets. Just things that kids didn't need to know, didn't care to know, like the _why _and the _how_ behind her first marriage. Robert's parents had been dragged into it as well. She supposed House had a point there, she'd been trying to get Robert to talk about his mother's problems with the girls for years now, though it definitely wasn't House's place to _say_ anything, especially since he'd know when Robert's dad was dying and didn't tell Robert. But she didn't understand the point of the argument, only knew that the portion that Claire overhead could be twisted, misinterpreted into something vicious and provocative.

She slipped out of Robert's embrace—even now, especially now, after so many years, the ferocity with which he unconsciously gripped her at night was ridiculous—and slipped on her jogging clothes. She checked at the girls' doors, proceeded downstairs, spun up the treadmill. She heard Robert leave through the front door seventeen minutes into her run. After finishing, she poured herself a cup of coffee, took a quick shower. Keeping her hair wrapped in a towel, she put on a clean pair of pajama pants and a sweatshirt and padded back downstairs. She could hear the twins in the kitchen, their chipper tones discussing the upcoming day.

She opened House's door quietly, dreading the moment, and sat on the edge of his bed, shaking his arm gently and trying not to disturb his stitches. "Hey, House," she called. "Time to get up. It's nearly seven." He looked smaller than she'd ever seen him, and his skin looked grayish against his light-blue shirt.

"Who … the hell … gets up at 'nearly seven'?" he questioned blearily, refusing to open his eyes.

"You have PT in an hour and a half."

"That's another hour of sleep."

"I'll make eggs," she bargained.

"Since when are eggs a good bribe?"

"What do _you _want then?" she asked.

"Eggs. Omelet form."

"Done," she said, and then got a good look at his face, whiskers slowly encroaching on cheeks and jaw. "You need a shave."

"Yeah, I'll just get right on that," he said sarcastically.

"Come on," she pulled him to sitting and then moved to help him into the wheelchair. "I shaved Chase when he broke his arm. I can guarantee no more than three nicks."

"You better not get any soap in them," he mumbled threateningly, sleep still heavy in his voice. "Seriously, Cameron, who wakes up this early? You run a department, you set the times."

"Running this early helps clear your head," she said lightly, and then immediately regretted it: House, she knew, ran every morning before his infarction. He ran the eight miles to PPTH when the ketamine temporarily worked its miracles, and she could still clearly recall the awful, tense mornings after a bitter House finally admitted defeat and picked his cane back up. "It's also the only time the barnful of children are too tired to come up with good comebacks."

"Figures you'd sooner wake up early than come up with an original and witty retort."

She filled the sink basin with water, and soap, used a washcloth to pat down the whiskers before slathering them in shaving cream. "Tilt up," she said, slowly dragging the razor along jawbone. She worked in a comfortable silence for nearly ten minutes, neither of them quite able to make small talk. After she dried off his cheeks, she commented, "Now Linda can see your full range of facial expressions as you insult her." She grinned at his reflection, and he rolled his eyes, a motion that, when performed by House, conveyed more than words could. "Come on. I owe you an omelet."

The girls both stood in the kitchen, Sophie dressed in a rocker T-shirt, skinny jeans, and a pinstriped vest, her hair carefully sculpted into a puff. "Is it Punk Day for Spirit Week?" House asked as Cameron wheeled him next to the table and pushed the _Times _towards him.

Sophie's cheeks pinked, then she recovered and smiled. "It's whatever day _I _say it is." Allison smiled; she was never sure where her children got their backbones at such a young age—it wasn't her or Robert, definitely.

"And _I _say it's time to get going; come on, I need to hang these posters for the Blood Drive," Claire whined.

Allison felt slightly bereft as her daughters kissed her cheeks and dashed out the door. She wanted to remind them to be good people, be proud and confident, and to call her when they were out of school, but the moment passed wordlessly. She flicked the smaller TV on, using CNN to fill the silences.

Chase returned, dripping sweat, and paused in the kitchen to grab a glass of water and a cup of coffee before his shower. He stopped momentarily to put his hands on her hips and kiss her neck as she concentrated on whisking egg whites. "Morning, babe," she said flirtily, her day picking up already. She reached out, grabbed a coffee cup from the cabinet. "Looking for this?"

"God yes," he said, stepping to fill the cup. "Morning, House," he nodded toward House, and Allison couldn't see his reaction. "What's this? Omelets?"

"Yeah, want one?"

"Sure," he said. "I'm going to go shower off and kick Rocco out of bed, I'll be back in ten."

"Tell him his bus is coming in 20!" she called toward his retreating back. She spun around and threw two Kashi frozen blueberry waffles into a toaster for Rocco. "Cheese, onions, and peppers okay? It's all we have. And do you want any coffee?"

"Coffee's good," he nodded. She filled a mug halfway so he wouldn't spill. He was reading over the health section, snorting derisively every few minutes. She handed him an omelet a few minutes later. "Cameron, where's the _color_?" he asked.

"It's egg-whites only," she said, sliding her own onto a plate. "It's heart-healthy." He shot her a baleful look.

"Salt?"

"Not a chance." He rolled his eyes and fumbled for his Vicodin. Allison silently held out a hand, and House handed it over reluctantly. She twisted the cap and handed it back.

He nodded behind her and said, "Your calendar looks like you're busy, yet you have time to color-code the calendar?"

She glanced behind her to see the family calendar pinned above a rolltop desk stuffed with years of late birthday cards and magazine-subscription offers. The calendar was in two portions: a paper version for the whole month, and a whiteboard version she wiped clean weekly. Each family member had a color (Robert, black; she had green; Lizzy, pink; Ceecee, purple; Soph, blue; Rocco, red) to mark activities or events; if anyone needed something added to the calendar there was a pile of corresponding Post-Its so she could make a note and Allison would see it. Letters from the schools and practice schedules from coaches were tacked neatly underneath, colored tabs denoting which child it concerned.

"I would think you'd appreciate a good whiteboard," she quipped. "Stole the Post-It note idea from Cuddy." She suddenly realized what she'd said, and silently chastised herself. House shifted, and she decided to plow ahead with it, see if House got mad. Pushing Cuddy, she reasoned, would fit into Wilson's plan. "Have you talked to her? I didn't really get a chance to catch up with her last week."

He glared at her, shifted. "She's fine. Best Jewish non-grandmother in Florida."

"How did things _end_ with you two?" The question was rash and stupid, and she knew it. But she was honestly curious—it had happened so quickly, one day Cuddy was just in Florida and House was still in Princeton. She gripped her fork more tightly before he answered.

"Do you want to talk about feelings?" he mocked, faking a pout. "Because right now my heart's just so wounded I don't think I can take it. I wonder if this will hurt my leg."

She frowned; even if he was joking it wasn't funny. "If you don't want to talk about your feelings, fine, we can sit here and you can stew and the news chick can do the talking for us."

"Like you would just let me drop the subject," he sneered. "Pretending to lead an emotionally satisfying life isn't enough for you anymore?"

"Excuse me? Pretending? What, we're too conventional, because we made it out of your fellowship not completely messed up? Medicine is only our second-highest priority, so we must be failures? And_ also_" she snapped through a bite of egg, "deflection doesn't work. _Especially_ after whatever-the-hell you provoked in Chase yesterday, and you're _so _lucky I'm not giving you hell about that right now. In front of Claire and Rocco! _Don't _mess with them like that. So we're doing to talk _your_ feelings and how Cuddy didn't leave your hospital room for two days and then suddenly picks up and flees to Florida as soon as you woke up right now!" She realized her voice was elevated, persistent, and she sat back a little. She concentrated on cutting her omelet into perfect squares. "Talk."

"Menopause makes you meaner," he said, looking at his plate.

"I wonder what our favorite endocrinologist would say about that hypothesis," she arched an eyebrow.

"What do you expect, Cameron? Of course she went back to Florida. I'm fine; there was no reason for my medical proxy to be there."

"No, but she was the woman you … were with …" she struggled to define what, exactly, House and Cuddy had been to each other in terms acceptable for House, "for twenty-five years? That's longer than _all_ of Wilson's marriages, combined."

"_We _were adults about it," he said, and she almost felt pity at his discomfort and disgust. "We didn't get the papers and the kids to tie us down. Things weren't working, we realized that, we moved on."

She frowned even more deeply at his tone. "I don't believe you."

"Of _course_ you don't. You want every movie to end with a wedding, or at least a great kiss-in-the-rain. I bet you hated _Casablanca_, didn't you?"

"Actually, I love _Casablanca_. And _Roman Holiday, _before you bring that up, and I thought changing the ending of _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ was crap." All were almost-truths; she'd railed against_ Casablanca _when she was younger. She liked it now, though. "I don't want my friends to end up unhappy because they're too stubborn and proud to take the good and go with it."

"Love's supposed to change people?" he sneered. "No, you need to get over your Jane Austen complex and quit meddling."

"Love_ does _change people, and you know that. Hell, _you're_ nowhere near who you were when I met you. _Time_ changes people. And sticking to the past … well, you were the one finally made_ me _realize that's a bad thing, so maybe you could start practicing what you preach? Just call her. It's really okay."

Rocco dashed into the kitchen then, yelled, "Mom! Do you know where my …"

"Science book is?" she handed it over to him, adjusted the books in his bag and grabbed the stuff he'd left on the counter last night. "Here's your lab, here's your English assignment, and there are your cleats for practice. Here," she grabbed the cooling waffles from the toaster, "is some breakfast. Bus in," she checked her watch, "three minutes. Go." She kissed his forehead, and with a rushed _thanks_ he took off.

Robert, dressed in a suit, his hair damp and mountain-fresh-smelling, came almost immediately into the kitchen. "Rocco get out alright?"

"Yeah," she said, moving to sit down and finish her eggs. "Here is your unburned omelet." She handed him the plate that had been sitting next to her.

"Hey! If I have to suffer through the tasteless taste of egg whites, so does he," House said, staring at Robert's sunny yellow eggs.

"_He _hasn't had multiple heart attacks and didn't just get stents put into three major arteries. Plus he has great cholesterol."

"Well, doesn't that just clinch it," House sulked.

"Sorry, mate," Robert said, and Allison had a suspicion he threw in the Aussie slang just to annoy House.

The rest of the day passed quickly; House got to the Sloan Center and they got to work. Wilson picked House up, and he sent her a text message saying they would be at House's apartment for the afternoon and early evening. She headed home shortly after six. Robert had two diagnostic patients, one of whom was actually having serious complications, so she set off without him.

Allison wasn't surprised when she found Claire sitting on the couch, thumbing through photo albums of Allison's childhood. "Hey, Ceecee," she said, apparently surprising her daughter. "What's up?"

Claire jumped a little, then lied badly, "Nothing, just looking at some old photo albums."

"Ah. This wouldn't have anything to do with what you heard House and your dad talking about last night, would it?" Claire was the worst one to have overheard that: Rocco wouldn't care; Sophie was the crusader, demand answers then would yell for a little, and get over it; Elizabeth, laidback but a willful adventurist, would simply ask House , who would tell her the truth, and then laugh it off. Claire, however, was the sweet, serious, idealistic one, the one that was most _hers, _fragile and optimistic and a little more naïve than her sisters, and she was too scared to ask, but would internalize it and let it debase her unless Allison talked to her.

Claire shrugged awkwardly. "Sort of?"

"I wasn't there, but honey, you know you have absolutely nothing to worry about. We're not _hiding _anything."

"Then why did Dad say you weren't going to share unnecessary information that would cause unnecessary problems?"

"I don't know. I'm not your dad," she said evenly, sitting on the couch next to her. "You know what, why don't you ask me whatever questions you have?"

Claire looked suspicious, but finally started with, "Why don't you have any photos of your first marriage?"

"I … do. I keep a few upstairs. They're … private. We didn't take too many photos. I don't talk about it because it _is _hard." She sat down. "It … was a long time ago."

"Did you love him?"

"Yes," she said, then stopped, unsure of how to articulate it to an 18-year-old whose entire life was predicated upon the fact that she loved someone else. "But … him being sick was more central to our relationship than how much I loved him. I wouldn't've met him if he wasn't, because we met at the hospital where I did research; if we had met otherwise, we would have waited before taking the step to marriage. But, yes, I loved him very much."

"It all sounds so very _A Walk to Remember_," Claire commented.

Allison felt a rush of gratitude at the simple, easy comparison. "It was a lot like that. Except I don't think I was a jerk before we met."

"Is he why you became a doctor?"

She shook her head. "I was doing a seven-year program for med school when we met. But he's definitely why I worked so hard afterwards."

"Did you date anyone else between when you were married and Dad?"

She considered the faceless first dates and the overeager med-school classmates. House. "Not really. I was busy in med school, then I went straight into residency and then my fellowship with House and met your father."

"And you two … just started dating right off the bat?" She was an awful fisher. Still, Allison would take Claire's awful searching over Elizabeth's impeccable nosing any day.

"Well, no," Allison considered her words carefully, trying to figure out if Claire had, perhaps, talked to Elizabeth, trying to keep her words positive but not messy. "We couldn't, really; it was just us and Foreman and House, plus we were both _so_ focused on the job and were always together and always arguing during differentials, and we could both take it personally, so a lot of the time I don't think we completely got along. We were very competitive with each other. And we were also dating other people—nothing specific, I don't think I had anything past a second date when I was working with House. I think we were friends, though. I got along with him much better than with Foreman most of the time. We both had to grow up a little, too." She checked her words against her recollections and decided they matched.

"Not difficult," Claire said dryly. "Then what happened?"

"He had a crush on me, and I … knew about it. We were pretty immature then and both acted stupidly about it, at times. I was probably worse, actually. But we started casually dating a few months before we left our fellowships, but I didn't want it to be anything serious—we were working together, I was a little scared, keeping things casual had completely complicated everything even more, because we were working together and House and Cuddy found out. … Dad convinced me with the whole 'It's Tuesday' thing." She smiled. "But no, we didn't start a real relationship until right after he got fired and I quit."

"House _fired_ Dad?" Claire asked, astonished.

"What? Oh, yeah," Allison cringed; she didn't realize her daughters didn't know _that_ story. But it was hardly a secret, just not worth mentioning. "Your dad'd been making a lot of good catches, getting it right when House didn't. I think House recognized your dad was moving on, and one night he was in a cantankerous mood, because Foreman had quit and he was upset. House knew if any of us were ready to leave it was your dad, so in his mind that meant he should fire your dad instead of making up with Foreman. Don't ask me how; it's all under the bridge now. Dad and House really respect each other. And with Foreman _and _your dad gone, there wasn't exactly a reason for me to stay. It wouldn't be educational for me if I had to train new people. And I'd learned a lot, working with House, about how to deal with things, which was more important, ultimately, because I didn't end up directly pursuing diagnostics the way your father did. So I quit, too, then Cuddy rehired us."

Claire traced the cracks in the leather album cover. "Then why did Dad say this 'unnecessary information' would cause unnecessary problems? What sort of complications did you two have all the time?"

She sighed. "Claire, remember, I was barely older than you. I'd fallen in love, and he _died_ and then I just threw myself into med school. I graduated at twenty_-four, _I was completely naïve when I got to House. And here was your father, and I couldn't _not_ be around him because we worked together, sometimes were around each other for more than 100 straight hours. We argued a lot in the first couple years because that was our _job_, and you throw in something like feelings and suddenly I didn't know what to do, so I just sort of ignored him. Not that he ever _said _anything, really, but I knew it was there and it bugged me. I didn't know what to do, so I didn't behave exactly … maturely. I told you, I'm not good at talking things through. And your father isn't either. Being in a relationship with him … was scary. We both really sucked at normality for a while. We had lives before each other, as well as lives before you, you know, and we both had baggage. And it definitely didn't help that it started when we were around House constantly; that man's prying and jokes and comments aren't good when you have _no_ idea what you want."

"What'd House say?"

She smiled. "Well, he had suspicions, I'm sure, but he found out when he caught us kissing in a closet. And then the comments started."

"Kissing?" Claire asked skeptically. Allison shot her an annoyed look, and Claire cracked up. "Mom, you can be kind of … lame, you know?"

"We _were_ just kissing when House walked in," she said, not liking her defensive tone. She relaxed and said, "Your father was in the process of losing his shirt, though." Claire blanched, then laughed, and Allison continued, "But you know how House is—he's 12. He still makes faces if he sees us so much as holding hands. I can't even remember what he said, but he did tell Cuddy and she gave me a little speech."

"Little hypocritical," Claire observed.

Allison waved it off. "She wasn't dating House at this point; they started dating about two years later."

"Then, again, seriously, what are the potential problems that might come up with us knowing the exact facts here?"

She shook her head. "Honestly, Claire, I don't know what House was talking about. House obsesses on the patients he loses, and that's not healthy. We at least try to remember the people we saved, the good things, and he finds that focusing on those is unacceptable. He probably wants us to disclose every bad thing we ever did, or ever happened to us, or any fights we ever got in. And, you know, House is far from perfect. Some of the things he's done are unethical and borderline cruel, even when dealing with your dad and me. But he'll say we're hypocritical parents if get on your cases for doing things that we did, even though they were wrong and stupid and we probably knew those things at that time. I shoplifted a lipstick when I was 16, but I'm still going to yell at you if I ever found out you shoplifted, because it is stupid and you know better, and so did I and my parents yelled at me." She looked at Claire, who still looked sad and a little suspicious.

"But all this was ages ago," she continued. "I'm not trying to be dishonest—you always need to be honest—but yeah, some stuff I have forgotten. Forgive, forget, move on. We're not perfect, and, okay, we didn't really get along when we met. It's sort of funny, now, in retrospect, because it took us so long to start figuring things out. How we felt, and honestly, how we should act. It took a while, nut that time allowed us to learn how to work together."

Claire gazed at her carefully, as if trying to sketch a nude drawing of her through her clothes. Finally she breathed out, and said, "You know, I'm very glad you two worked everything out in the end."

Allison laughed, and asked, "Which photo album are you looking through?"

Claire lifted the album. "It looks like you and Aunt Amanda and Uncle David as teenagers."

"Oh my god," Allison smiled. "I don't even want to _see _those."

"Come on. Where was _this _one taken?" Claire pointed to a photo of a young Ally and Mandy, their hair teased high, their legs wrapped in stirrup leggings and their sweaters huge.

"First day of school," Allison laughed and slid the photo out of its slot. "1990. Come on now, cut me some slack."

They continued to go through the photos, laughing at the bad fashions. The mood was much lighter, but Allison doubted this was the last she was going to hear about House and Robert's stupid argument.


	16. So Many Questions, I Need an Answer

**Disclaimer **in part one

Please read and review! Postings fewer and farther now that life has restarted again...

* * *

_Someday We'll Know_

_Why the Sky Is Blue_

_--The New Radicals "Someday We'll Know"_

"That was _it?_" Sophie asked, skeptical of her sister's innocent tale. "You bought that? Ow!" she yelped as she slaked some skin off her finger as well as from the potato. She sucked the blood from her thumb.

"Yes! That's it," Claire said. "She didn't have any specific examples and she honestly looked like she didn't have a clue what House and Dad meant. She was telling the truth. I could tell. She said she _wasn't _perfect, and House was probably remembering stupid mistakes that she made and hounding Dad about it."

"Yeah, like taking meth. And booty-calling. And illegitimate children and god knows what else," Sophie shot back. She set the peeler down and started dicing the potatoes for a potato salad. "I thought Lizzy's plan was _perfect_. Mom would never suspect you."

"Yeah, well she definitely didn't suspect me," Claire used two hands to drop cubed watermelon into a bowl and then wiped her hands on her Soffe shorts.

"Yeah, too bad you didn't push too much. There is _definitely something_ there," Sophie said. The two girls were preparing the food for their cookout the next afternoon. It had been a long day—a track meet, luckily in Princeton, dance practice, and now both their parents were at the hospital working on a rapidly dying Diagnostics patient, and the girls were alone with House to prepare for this too-big party that really should have happened on Wednesday.

"Next time, you two can meddle if you think something's there," Claire said.

"There is!" Sophie insisted. "I want to ask Dad."

"Yeah, that'll go over well," Claire snorted. "Why can't you just trust Mom and Dad? And who cares? Whatever it was was years ago. It's so far gone."

"Something that causes_ problems _isn't gone," Sophie insisted.

"You know, _repeating _over and over again that there _is_ something that _will _cause a problem is a problem in itself," Claire pointed out, dumping honeydew into the fruit bowl.

"If Dad didn't think there would be problems, _I _wouldn't think there would be problems," Sophie said stubbornly.

"Sometimes a cough is just a cough," Claire said.

Sophie rolled her eyes. Claire was sweet, and kind, and right now she was awfully dense. She wished she could just ask her father—because Mom's answers seemed deliberately vague—but Lizzy insisted that asking outright was an easy way for their parents to spin their answers and influence which way the girls searched. And sadly, she was right.

"We're not going to get her to admit she booty-called Dad," Claire insisted, interrupting Sophie's thoughts. "And, also, who cares? They had lives before they met us; I don't want to hear it."

"Sophie! Claire! Come on, let's go," House said, wheeling himself into the kitchen.

Sophie gasped. "Since when have you learned to do that?" His hands still visibly trembled; their parents had warned them not to say anything to him as they watched him struggle with utensils every night. Mom or the nurse did his buttons or tied his shoes.

He shrugged. "It took like five minutes. Now, come on, push me, we don't have much time."

"Where are we going?"

"The hospital," House replied. "Do I need to call an ambulance? Would they move faster?"

"It's Saturday. You don't have an appointment," Sophie set down her knife, suspicious. "And we have a party to organize."

"Oh, well since the Princeton Party Planning Committee is having a meeting here, _obviously_ I should be more patient."

Claire threw him her Look, which she'd inherited from her mother. "House, this is important to us."

"And I _need _to go to the hospital," House said petulantly, his voice rising.

"What _for_?"

"Your father has worn a tie home every night since Thursday."

"And therefore he's sick … and you have to go report it to the hospital?" Claire asked skeptically, heading toward the fridge to grab the chicken that needed to be marinated.

"When Chase is working in the ICU or surgery and changes out of his scrubs to come home, he forgets to put his tie on afterwards. When he's working on a Diagnostics patient, he doesn't wear scrubs so he doesn't need to change out of them. He's had a patient since Wednesday and no cure? And now your mother is in the hospital, which means that his people aren't cutting it and he's passive aggressively reminding them that Cameron is still better than them. Come on, come on," he barked.

Nervous, Claire almost dropped the chicken. Sophie caught her eye and she turned away quickly. "We can't, sorry," Sophie said, knowing that if Claire opened her mouth Wilson's entire scheme would unravel like a badly made sweater. "We wanted to have a few friends over for a cookout on our EE Day, but we couldn't, and with the extra couple of days we _accidentally_ invited 20 more people."

"You have all night."

"I have a date," Sophie said quickly.

"Claire's a better cook anyways."

"I'm going out with my friends," Claire said quickly, not making eye contact.

He looked suspiciously between the two. "Well, you're having all these people over tomorrow, why play with them tonight?"

"We're _social_," Sophie said. "Get over it."

"You know, you're really turning into the bitchy one. Period, maybe? Come on, Claire will take me. She's still the nice one."

"Nobody's the nice one, nobody's the bitchy one, nobody's the mean one," Sophie said, trying desperately to make sure that Claire didn't talk. "We're just busy. Call Wilson."

"Wilson took the wee one to Hershey Park today."

"Kids still _go _to the park?" Sophie tried deflection.

"Yes. Now, car keys. 'S not _difficult_. You guys get straight A's in school, this should be _easy_."

"House, we can't, I'm sorry." Claire looked like she was about to start crying. _Damn. _

"Our parents are doing paperwork," Sophie said quickly. "They've had a lot of patients lately and so they went in today to catch up on paperwork. Not that you would know, because I _know_ your token chick always did yours. Or Mom did."

"I'm hurt. Are you saying I'm sexist?"

"No, just manipulative," Sophie sighed. She really couldn't lift this one by herself. "I'm sorry, but neither of us have time. Go play video games or something. Or get Rocco to use his bike."

House stared at the two of them. "Something's up." He clumsily pushed himself to get a better view of Sophie's face. "Something is _definitely_ up. Did you father pay you guys to make sure I don't go to the hospital so he could hoard the patients?" He looked carefully at her, and she kept her face as composed as possible. "Doesn't sound like your dad, though, really. He has the turn-the-other-cheek stuff down to a science. It doesn't sound like your mother, because she feels my pain and knows that I _like_ going to the hospital, and she can't stand to see people in misery. It sounds like … Wilson or Cuddy."

Luckily, Claire wasn't in House's line of vision or he would have known exactly what was going on. Sophie, though, had a brilliant idea. She set down the paring knife and said, "There's really no plot. We're just busy. But if you tell us why you and Dad were arguing about unnecessary information the other day, I'll drive you to PPTH."

"Now, that's not fair," House mocked. "Or nice."

"Since when have you not liked when people play dirty?" Sophie asked.

"Soph—no," Claire said reluctantly. "There's nothing there, nothing _substantial_ anyways, that we actually need to know." She shot House a dirty look.

"You scared my parents would kick you out? Wilson will take you in." Sophie encouraged. "You know you want to, you wouldn't've started that argument with Dad."

"Who says I started anything?"

"Dad doesn't start stuff," Sophie reasoned. "You, on the other hand, love to poke Jello and see how it jiggles."

"Good metaphor," House complimented. "How are you related to either of your parents? Devious, a good liar, loves to argue, _and_ makes good metaphors? Not related to the Cameron or Chase I know."

"I'm good," Sophie said coolly. "We got a deal?"

"No!" Claire shouted. "This is stupid. House, we get that our parents made and make mistakes. That's normal. That's human. And we know that they would yell at us for stuff they did. It's normal, it's not stupid. Just because they did something doesn't mean that we should, if it was stupid or bad in the first place. We know about the meth; Lizzy told us. Like, of course they should yell at us for meth. It's stupid. But we know that they've made mistakes, and they've moved on and dealt with the consequences. And they let us make mistakes, too, so we learn lessons. They'll step in if it gets really dangerous, of course, but they let us screw up without getting overprotective. Like, they let Lizzy go on that date with Luke Haxby the other day, even if they think he's too old for her."

"Well, yes, obviously, because it _would_ be massively hypocritical of your mother to yell at her kid for asking out an older man. And, hell, Haxby's only _eleven _years older than Elizabeth. I'm almost fourteen years older than your mother."

Sophie did a double-take. "_You _dated Mom? Ew." She couldn't help the last part.

Claire shook her head. "No, I asked Mom. She barely dated between her first marriage and Dad."

"You asked your mother, point-blank, if she dated me?" House said archly. "Because I'm pretty sure I taught her how to squirm out of situations where someone's asking for full disclosure." Sophie shuddered at the sudden double entendre of _squirm._

"When did this dating occur?" Sophie asked.

"Did I say dating? Your mother extorted a date out of _me_. She quit and everything just to get her own way. It was … 2005."

"Wait, no, House—Mom quit because you fired Dad and Foreman left and she didn't feel like training new people," Claire said impatiently.

"No, that was the _second_ time she quit. She quit the first time a few months into her fellowship. Came back two weeks later," House corrected. "Take me to the hospital. I've kept my end of the bargain."

"So it was one date, almost … more than two years before she started dating Dad?" Claire said, calculating the timelines in her head. It did fit into their mother's comment to Claire about only having a few first dates while working under House. "Big deal. So what if she didn't tell me? She didn't lie about it."

"You, on the other hand," House said, "are _exactly_ your parents' child. That's why you're not as fun."

"I'm going to go do homework," Claire said abruptly. "Hell if I care whether he goes to the hospital. Sophie, you can handle this." She stomped out of the kitchen, and Sophie heard her defiant footfalls marching all the way upstairs, where House couldn't reach her.

"She's touchy," House said indifferently. "Come on. Car."

Triumphant and thrilled, Sophie couldn't contain her smile as she shook her head. "Can't," she smiled. "_You _just lost me my best sous-chef. So either pick up a knife or I can push you back into the great room."

House looked at her shrewdly, and suddenly she faltered. What if she'd overplayed the hand? "Great room. And turn a damn game on," House said.

She was screwed.

Up next! Rocco speaks! He DOES exist!

Coming soon: A death in the family, the return of Elizabeth & Cuddy, and Sophie knocks down a private house of cards.


	17. Traps for Troubadors

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* * *

**

Disclaimer in part one

Boy is it hard to get in the mind of a disaffected, easygoing, 12-year-old guy

* * *

_Ah What's Puzzling You_

_Is The Nature of My Game_

_--Rolling Stones, "Sympathy for the Devil" _

Rocco was bored. The Idiot Twins (a nickname House had come up with about ten minutes earlier, and Rocco thought it was perfect) were busy smiling and laughing in the backyard, pretending to man a grill, which in reality was empty and cool. Later there would be a great bonfire to play with the gloomy light of impending twilight. Normally he would love a cool fire in his backyard, but since this fire was accompanied by 30 of the Idiot Twins' friends blocking his soccer goal, eating all the food in his house, and preventing him from inviting his own friends over, he didn't like this fire.

He sighed. The grill-out was an especially bleak end to an especially bad Sunday. Dad had made him go to Mass, of course; he'd been the only one to go after both twins thought they needed to stay and fix stuff for the party. Mom had stayed to help as well, and while that normally meant his dad would take him out to lunch, today the stupid grill plus House meant Mom was stressed and the two of them needed to go home. Then, his usual Sunday swim practice had been cancelled since the rest of the team was at a meet in Haddonfield, but he couldn't go because it April meant he concentrated on soccer and not swimming or basketball. But then Mom wouldn't let him have friends over because he got a B- on his last math test, plus they had enough people over with the twins' stupid grill-out.

He must have sighed again, because Mom, who had been in the kitchen arranging a fruit salad into a hollowed-out watermelon, said, "Hey, now. I'm not _that _boring, am I?"

Mom was kind of boring, unfortunately, the way that all moms were. But obviously he couldn't say that, so he just sighed and said, "No, I'm just _bored_."

"There're burgers outside, you want one?"

"I _guess_ so," he scowled, knowing that was dinner.

"You want to go watch rugby?" Dad asked. He was eating a plate of carrots and dip he'd stolen from the buffet on the picnic table outside—not exactly helping, and Mom had already commented on it before Dad had convinced her to eat a broccoli tree.

"Naw," Rocco said, trying to figure out something fun to do. "Can we call Nate and go play soccer in the park?" he asked eagerly.

"No," Mom said, right before Dad looked like he was going to say okay. Damn. "You _could_ study for that science test you have coming up. Or maybe you could practice the piano, which you haven't done in days."

He groaned. "Mom, the piano's so _dumb_. Come on, why can't I quit if I never practice?"

"Because you never practice so that I'll let you quit. If you just practiced, you'd like it. Plus it'll help make you better on trumpet."

Dad shot him a look, obviously saying _Go along with it. _Rocco rolled his eyes, trapped. He quickly filled a plate full of food before heading out to the great room.

"Don't get food on the piano keys," Mom called.

He turned, irrationally aggravated. "The _food_ is for _House_," he said, turning again.

House was sitting in the living room, watching a game on TV and deep in concentration. Rocco sat the plate down in front of House, studied his hands and face, and then held out his own hand. House fumbled the Vicodin out of his pocket, and Rocco quickly opened it before heading to the piano.

He rushed through scales, purposefully missing as many sharps and flats as he could, and then opened his piano book to the Beethoven section, which he knew House would _hate_, especially because he planned on screwing up as much as possible. Sure enough, he was only seconds into Moonlight Sonata before House groaned, "For God's sake, haven't you heard of Armstrong? Davis? Ellington? Lewis? Hancock? Beiderbecke? Or hitting the right notes?"

Rocco grinned and could barely stop himself from packing his books away right then. "Not those last three," he said. "Mom said I have to practice. Unless you want to do something else? She'll be okay if I don't practice if I do something with you."

"You need to practice."

"I'll practice later. I promise."

House hit the side of his chair to get Rocco to push him. "C'mon. We're going to play chess."

Rocco balked. "I don't know how."

"What do you mean?" House said. "You're _inheriting_ that chess set one day. It's fantastic."

Rocco shook his head. "Dad tried to teach me once. I got bored."

"Well, I guess there's still time to get you ready to beat Bobby Fischer. Now, come on. Push," House instructed.

Rocco briefly weighed his options, before realizing he had none: If he stayed and practiced because he didn't know chess, House would yell, which would make Mom yell, and he'd still have to practice; if he played chess with House, Mom would yell, House would shut her up quickly, and he _wouldn't_ have to practice. Perfect. He jumped behind House's chair and led the way into the den.

House walked him through setting up the table, droned on about the pieces. Rocco stared at the pieces, trying to imagine them as a soccer team to manipulate. He tried to concentrate as House explained which pieces moved forwards, which ones sideways, which ones backwards, but his eyes zig-zagged across the board, and he couldn't get over the feeling it was like checkers with less-exciting colors.

Checkers. Good idea. "Could we just play checkers, please? I promise I'll learn chess later."

House looked like he was going to argue, but he relented. "Sure. Grab the set."

Rocco quickly set up the pieces, told House to go first because he was black. "So when did you get grounded, too?" House asked, sliding his piece.

Rocco jerked his head up. "What?" he asked stupidly.

"You and me," House moved another piece, and Rocco knew that House was a 1,000 times better than him at this and he should be watching his pieces more closely. "We're both grounded."

"I'm not grounded," Rocco said, confused.

"But _I _am," House said.

"No, you're not. You don't have parents anymore," Rocco pointed out.

"Then why can't I go to the hospital?" House said. "I mean, the patient didn't die but he came damned close. They _needed_ me there."

"I … don't know," Rocco said. He was awful at lying. He was good at comebacks but awful at lying. "Who says you can't go to the hospital?"

"Sophie," House raised his eyebrows.

Rocco gasped. "She _did_?"He'd been positive Claire would cave.

House shrugged, nonchalant. "She didn't tell me everything. I know how to figure some stuff out sometimes. And then I know who to come to for confirmation. You're as bad as both your parents, together, at lying."

"Thanks?" Rocco said uncertainly. He'd always thought being compared to his parents was a good thing—_everyone_ was always saying how much he looked like his father—but House never left him quite sure that it was, actually, a good thing.

House smiled, grimly. "Now," he continued, expertly jumping two of Rocco's pieces. "Keeping me out of the hospital is _obviously_ a Wilson plan. But how come Chase and Cameron are actually going along with it? And they even convinced you three to play, too." Rocco hesitated, and House said, "Come on. I'll get you naked-lady magazines if you fess up."

Rocco rolled his eyes and stared at the game board. The future of the game suddenly materialized in front of him; his loss, which he knew was inevitable, now was certain as he visualized all of House's moves. "Dr. Wilson made a deal with Dr. Cuddy. He said he could keep you away from the hospital for two weeks and that would prove you had changed enough for her to come back and like live with you. And Mom went along with it because it seemed romantic, and Wilson said it would make you happy in the long run, and Dad thought it would be better for your recovery if you weren't in the hospital. But Mom thought Wilson was being mean to you and Dad thought that you'd figure it out anyways." He moved his last checker. "I can't believe Sophie caved."

"Sophie didn't cave; she was acting weird and I called your bluff," House said.

"Hey!" Rocco said, waves of injustice running through him. "That's not fair. How'm I supposed to know that?"

"Should I _apologize_ now?" House said.

Rocco felt anger rise. "Yes! You're not supposed to do that."

"Nothing to apologize _for_," House pointed out. "You guys were trying to pull one over me. I pulled one over you."

"Still," Rocco insisted, beginning to feel like this was a pointless argument. "You still _shouldn't_. And when you _do_, you should apologize. Even if you don't mean it it's nice. Like you should apologize to Dad for whatever you said to him."

His words caught House off guard. "What are you talking about?"

"When Claire and I came in because of the popcorn," Rocco said. "You and Dad were yelling, and Dad doesn't yell. And he hasn't talked to you since. So would you just apologize to him and things'll be fine again?"

"What if _I _think _he _should apologize? Also, apologies don't count unless you _mean_ them, and everyone knows that."

Rocco shrugged. "You're older. And you yell a lot more than Dad ever does, so that means he was madder than you were if he got to the point where he was yelling. And then he'll apologize too and everything'll be fine."

"Aren't you cute. Doesn't work that way; it's not that easy."

"It kinda is. You apologize, you move on. Dad'll forgive you, he always forgives," Rocco said hotly. "Anyways, what were you two _actually_ arguing about? There's no way it was hospital crap."

"Not telling," House said. "That's for your dad."

"No way. You tricked me and said Sophie had told. So now you can tell me what you two were fighting about."

"We weren't fighting," House said, irritated.

"I don't believe you. You should tell me."

"No, and you're an idiot."

Rocco crossed his arms, "No, I'm not. You're just being rude. Now, tell me."

House shook his head. "Nope. Ask your father. Those puppy-dog eyes don't work on me."

"Come _on_," Rocco wheedled. "It's important or else Dad wouldn't be yelling. You _always_ tell the truth, House, even if you're being mean, like when you said that my trumpet playing sounded like I was jumping on a dying cat. So what were you fighting about? You were fighting."

House's stare was hard, and meaner than Rocco had ever seen it. He began to wither under it. "Everybody lies, Rocco," House said. "Now, turn on the TV for me and go practice the piano. You suck; you need it."

The game wasn't even finished, but Rocco didn't notice. Upset, he silently flicked the TV onto ESPN and stalked out. Dad was still in the kitchen; Mom was probably outside, he thought. Dad did a double-take when he saw Rocco's face. "Rock, everything alright?" Dad asked concernedly.

Rocco sighed, again; it really was no use to ask Dad, because House was right, and everyone lied, or at least didn't tell the truth. And now that group included House, and Dad, and probably even Mom, if Dad did. He didn't feel screwed over, exactly, just screwed with. So he shook his head and said, "Nothing. Can you teach me how to play chess?"

Next chapter is the "chapter of small booms!"


	18. Clouds Between Their Knees

Disclaimer in part one.

The small booms are here! The death was a little misleading (sorry to behave like a promo department) but this is definitely worth it, I think. Let me know what you thinkthis is slowly winding down.

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_I Can't Stand to Fly_

_I'm Not that Naive_

_I'm Just Out to Find_

_The Better Part of Me_

_--Five For Fighting, "Superman"_

The phone jarred Robert out of his deep sleep, and he quickly reached over Allison to grab the headset, nearly crushing her shoulder in the process. She didn't wake, though. Late-night phone calls were always bad news about his patients; Al had slowly lost her Diagnostic reflexes and simply slept through the rings at this point.

"Yeah?" he said, his voice gruff and thick from sleep. He checked the time; a little before one. They'd all gone to bed at an extremely decent hour that night.

"Robert?"

"Amanda?" he said incredulously, barely recognizing his sister-in-law's voice. She was a natural comedienne, with a booming, joyful voice perfect for telling stories and an optimistic outlook so unlike her sister's that they were rarely recognizable as related. Now, though, she sounded timid, week, tired, scared, sad … all indicative of awful things. He sat up, and started nudging Allison's shoulder until she finally rolled awake. "Is … everything alright?"

"Mom … died. She died in her sleep. The doctors think it was an … an aneurism. Is Allison there?" Her voice was thudding, dead; his heart sank even though he had known this was probably what Amanda was calling about all along. He looked over at Allison, who was blinking, as if adjusting to light, though the lights were off in their bedroom. "Shit. Robert, I didn't realize how late it was out East …"

"It's okay, it's okay," he said. Allison finally looked awake enough, and he held the phone to his chest. "It's … Amanda," he told her.

She gasped, her mouth an _O_, and then said, "It's my mom, isn't it? Isn't it?" She reached blindly for the phone, gripped his hand with her other one. "Amanda? Amanda?" her voice was panicked, clear, high; she was perfectly awake.

He reached out to awkwardly stroke her shoulder and pull her closer, but she was shaking violently, and then she grabbed the phone and fled into the bathroom.

It wasn't exactly a surprising reaction, even now. He slid down so that he was lying on the bed and listened to Allison's tones.

Allison and Amanda, who were so close in age (barely thirteen months apart) and appearance that they were often mistaken for twins as children, had drifted considerably as they grew. They now only spoke about once a month, a perfunctory conversation when Allison was done speaking with Nina, their mother, who lived with Amanda.

Amanda had always been an excitable performer, according to both Allison and Nina, and a lackadaisical class-clown, whereas Allison had been a serious, driven, competitive observer. Allison had followed the easygoing but intelligent David, the middle ground to the two girls' personalities, to Northwestern and enrolled in the seven-year med program, easily marking her ambition; Amanda had followed her football-captain boyfriend, Mitch, to Northern Illinois, where she'd earned a degree in elementary education. Amanda had married Mitch—the first and only boy she ever dated, starting in eighth grade—and moved back to the same suburb they'd grown up in; they'd had two sons followed by a daughter, Emily, who was born shortly before Robert met Allison. Just after Emily, who was now thirty, had graduated high school, they moved to Las Vegas, the first surprising thing they'd ever done (in Allison's words), eventually coercing Nina to move in with them shortly after she turned 80. Allison's father had died several years earlier, around the time Elizabeth started kindergarten—COPD.

Nina had been fairly active after her husband's death and visited about twice a year until she moved in with Amanda six years ago. Nina was an English teacher with a serious charitable streak and strong family values; she was definitely the source of Allison's fierce and formidable morality, especially in their early years. She loved Allison unrelentingly and unconditionally but had always disagreed with Allison—with Allison and Robert's—parenting and marital choices, from moving in together to Allison continuing to work so much after Elizabeth's birth. She'd had a fairly simple life, in Allison's words, as had Amanda; it didn't mix with Allison's desire to be uncertain, to question, to complicate, to sometimes be unhappy, even to fail. The two had drifted as Allison had taken on more responsibilities at work, had children, grown her life in Princeton. They were not close, though, only had perfunctory, obligatory conversations a few times a month. Nina had been overbearing but always, eventually, supportive; as far as Robert knew, she had been in decent health for her age, her faculties and function intact. Almost automatically, he whispered a prayer for her.

Allison's voice finally stopped and he heard the phone clatter on the floor. He stood and went in. Allison looked eerie and pale on the white tile, the moonlight's reflection playing all sorts of shadowy tricks. Her faces gleamed translucently with tears.

"So this is what being an orphan feels like, I guess," she said, a dull and poor attempt at humor. He slid down next to her and wrapped an arm around her waist. She gave in this time, sinking into him, and he was able to slide his arms around her shaking, shaken body. "How did you do this, all those years ago?" she asked, her voice breaking painfully.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"It was an aneurism… in her _sleep_. She was taking a nap before dinner, Amanda said; Amanda tried to wake her up around eight for dinner and she didn't wake up and so they called the ambulance, and she was pronounced dead right there. They took her to the hospital, took care of everything," Allison's voice trailed off, still sounding shocked. "I didn't expect this."

"Yeah, it is, I know," he said, but she didn't stop shaking.

"It's easier, you know, when you expect it," she said, still processing her thoughts. "Hospitals prepare you …"

"I know," he said, flashing back to the ways he'd found out about both his parents' deaths.

"I should tell the kids…" she said numbly, but didn't make a move. "Call Elizabeth." She didn't move, though.

"That can wait until morning," he said.

"I need a plane ticket. I need to go to Vegas."

"What?" he asked. "Why?"

"Amanda can't handle this by herself."

"She has Mitch right now; David is in Chicago, as are all your nieces and nephews and your dad is buried there, too. Shouldn't we go to Chicago?"

"I … don't know. We didn't discuss arrangements. She needed to get some sleep. She needed to call David, too. God, I need to talk to Dave."

"Wait until morning till we book tickets," he said. She leaned more heavily into him, her breath ragged and uneven. She began to shake more violently, and dug her nails in his forearms. Allison not only loved control; she needed to be in control of the fundamentals. Not being able to say goodbye, not being able to look at the charts … Part of the shock was the suddenness, but part of it was because she couldn't find one incident to claim as something she'd controlled.

He pressed a kiss chastely to her upper back, exposed by her camisole. She twisted, shaking into his chest now, before her breath evened and she began to suck desperately at his neck.

"Allison," he groaned as she worked her way up his jawline to his mouth.

"Shut up," she hissed, grabbing the hem of his T-shirt and yanking it upwards, her fingernails scraping along his sides.

He pulled her up; gripping her hips, he maneuvered her out of the bathroom (tried the tile once before, not an experience worth repeating) and toward the bed, his fingers pressing gentle circles into the hollows above her hipbone. She took her own shirt off next and bit deeply into his clavicle as he moved his hands up toward her breasts. Taking advantage of his movement, she grabbed his hips and pivoted hit, eventually pushing him backwards onto the bed before wriggling out of her pajama bottoms, climbing on top of him, kissing him while plunging her hand down his boxers, which she then promptly removed.

Luckily, she fell asleep quickly and deeply after they were done making love, not waking up again. He couldn't sleep, though, listened to her gentle slumbering, counted the seconds between her breaths and hoped they would stay long and slow.

At 5:00 he moved to turn off the alarm. She shifted but didn't wake, and he released a breath he didn't know he was holding.

At 6:00 he heard the shower on the other side of the second story start up, and Allison slept even through that. He contemplated just staying in bed and letting the girls and Rocco go to school, have a normal Friday, give him time to figure out what they were doing. The kids hadn't seen Allison's mother since the Christmas before last and had never seen her on a frequent basis; they needed to do well in school. It was a tempting plan, to simply stay in bed till they all left, then deal with Allison and House and everything.

At 7:00 Allison woke up. He first noticed the shift in her breathing, then she rolled over. "It still happened," she whispered.

"Yeah," he said, rubbing her shoulder. She finally, finally began to sob, the tears wracking through her body. Allison so rarely, actually cried. She did the tears-welling-up look beautifully, but they hardly ever crossed the line into tears. He hugged her tight, letting her bury her head into his shoulders, her auburn locks splaying messily all over.

"Mum? Dad?" Sophie knocked lightly on the door before popping her head in. "Just wanted to let you know that it's seven. … I mean, you _do _want to go to work today, don't you?"

"You tell her. I can't," Allison whispered before rolling over and shutting her eyes.

Robert closed his eyes, but only momentarily, then maneuvered out of bed—he was still shirtless, he noticed—and crossed the room, shutting the door behind him. Sophie already looked terrified. "Actually, no, neither of us are going to work today. We … got a call from Aunt Amanda late last night, your mum's mum died in her sleep. She went peacefully."

Sophie gasped, shocked, and Robert pulled her in tight for a hug. "Wow," Sophie mumbled. "Wow. Grandma's … gone. Wow."

"I'm so, so sorry, honey," he said, not letting up.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice wet from tears. "I'm sorry, too. You knew her a lot longer …"

"That's not the important part," Robert said, finally releasing her from her hug. "She loved you very much, you know, and she had a good long life."

"Yeah," Sophie said, her voice still dazed. "Wow. I can't believe it. I hadn't seen her in so long. … I feel really, really bad. I should have … should have called her more."

"Sophie, no, don't do this," Robert said. "It's nothing to do with you; she was old, had a very good life, and knew that you loved her very much."

'Yeah, yeah," Sophie said, her voice regaining some steadiness. "When … is … everything?"

"We're not sure; your mum just spoke briefly with your aunt last night. Probably, probably, next week. We may go to Chicago this weekend, and then stay for a while next week."

"Okay. Okay," Sophie said. "So I should … I should go to school today. Because I'm missing so much next week, and I'm functional right now. I'm … functional. I should be less functional, shouldn't I?" Robert realized that, beyond House's health scares—which were always followed by a miraculous recovery—his children had rarely experienced personal grief. They'd had it good: One of the twins' classmates died of cancer in middle school; a girl in Elizabeth's dance class had died in a car accident her senior year. The last wake they'd attended as a full family was when Dr. Hadley died. Elizabeth was 10 then, he thought, Sophie and Claire eight. The girls had liked Hadley—she was a permissive pinch babysitter—but they'd been largely unaffected by her death, even though they'd visited her at home barely a week before she died.

"Going to school is good," Robert said, grateful she'd brought it up. Now he could bully the other two into going. "You don't have to react a certain way; you shouldn't react a 'certain' way. I think going to school is a good idea too."

Sophie then pulled a very 'Allison' move; she grabbed his hand but rested her head on his shoulder. They moved downstairs, where a groggy Rocco and an immaculate Claire were eating breakfast.

"What's wrong?" Claire asked immediately, tremulously, when she saw her sister and father. "What's wrong?"

"Guys," Robert said, putting his hand on the counter and sighing. "Your … Grandma Nina passed away last night. In her sleep, very peacefully. Aunt Amanda called us about it late."

There was a moment of silence as Rocco and Claire processed, shocked but not actually shocked. He scrutinized their faces, watching the emotions play out. He could see their feelings of loss and their feelings that they hadn't really lost anything at all. Finally, they seemed to settle on disquiet and sorrow. Without warning or tears, Claire's face suddenly gleamed wetly. She put her head in her hands and said, simply, "Oh, my god."

"Are we going to Las Vegas?" Rocco asked uncertainly. "Is that what happens?"

"I think we'll go to Chicago, actually, your mum and I are figuring that out today. Claire, kitten, come here," he said, as Claire was dangerously close to tears.

Claire sniffled, and he hugged her tightly as she began weeping. "I … wow … I'm sorry, Dad."

"Thank you, kitten," he said softly. "I'm sorry too."

"She had a good life," Claire said decidedly, pulling back and wiping her eye carefully. "She was married for almost fifty years, had three kids, twelve grandkids, nine great-grandkids, a job she loved, all those charities, Maisie and Max and whatever cat she had at the time…"

"Is Mom alright?" Rocco asked tentatively, twirling a piece of toast.

"I think she'll be okay. She's sad, of course," Robert replied. "We'll figure stuff out today, but you guys will probably be out of school for most of next week. I'll call the guidance counselor today so your excused-absent paperwork can be processed, okay? You've nothing to worry about."

He looked at their faces closely. He was good at reading grief; right now, all his children looked raw and a little knocked off their foundations, but they would be fine. Their biggest problem with coping would be residual guilt from bouncing back so quickly. They would feel like they were disrespecting their grandmother by feeling fine, but a living grandmother was something they'd taken for granted, never really thought about. She'd lived far away, so their day-to-day lives wouldn't be affected. There was no overwhelmingly paralyzing grief; they were simply sad and a little debased. It was a logical death, one that was easy to accept and mourn. They would be fine.

"Yeah … we should get going … We should go to class, shouldn't we?" Claire asked distractedly.

Robert nodded. "I think that would be best."

They each hugged him once more, even Rocco, before filing out of the kitchen. Robert poured two cups of coffee, and then headed upstairs.

Allison was sitting up in bed, as he'd expected. "Kids are gone," he announced, handing her a cup of coffee.

"They decided to go to school?" she said, eagerly taking a sip.

"Yeah, and it's probably for the best. I mean, they'll miss a lot next week, probably; we can have some time to figure stuff out."

"I should call Elizabeth," Allison murmured. "She's probably not up yet, though?"

"She definitely not up yet. Even if she were at home she wouldn't be up."

"House," Allison said suddenly.

"Shit," Robert groaned. "I'll go wake him up and take him to rehab. You should sleep some more."

Allison looked at him skeptically. "I'll go make breakfast. He should just need to be woken and then his clothes need to be laid out, but then he can dress himself and then you can just help him get into the chair." She rolled out of the bed, grabbed his hand, and they headed downstairs.

With some trepidation, Robert headed back toward House's room, entering loudly and flicking on the lights.

"You're not as pretty as the usual wake-up call," House grumbled, sitting up in bed. "However, you're about 30 minutes past when the she-wolf tries to force me out of bed, so I'll take you."

"Allison's mum died last night," Robert said evenly. "And she's kind of upset about it, so please don't be an ass."

House did appear a little surprised at this news—his defenses were falling as he aged—and he said simply, "Damn. You guys letting me run the joint for the next few days then?"

Robert shrugged, his jaw twitching. "Hadn't thought about it yet, we're still processing."

"Luckily Cuddy is coming in to save the day," House said.

Robert grabbed at T-shirt, jeans, and a clean pair of boxers. "How'd you know that?"

"Your children are awful liars. I've known that particular surprise for a week," House said.

Robert shrugged uncomfortably, so ready to leave. "Al's making breakfast, and then I'll drive you to Sloan."

"Beautiful day in the neighborhood," House snarked, and Robert left.

Allison's eggs, never very good, were both burned and runny this morning. She picked at them, before announcing that she was calling David, in Chicago, and headed toward the living room, her bathrobe sashaying behind her. Robert quickly popped two waffles into the toaster, called the hospital to tell Hartmann he and Allison were taking the week off, handed a waffle to House, dashed upstairs, changed, kissed Allison (still on the phone, with David), took House to Sloan, even picked up flowers on the way back to the house.

Allison was sitting, legs folded Indian style, back to him, as he entered the kitchen. She'd showered, and her hair was bunned up. "I talked to David and we decided that _we_ should just fly into Chicago. Amanda is apparently taking care of … transportation, and she's getting to Chicago on Sunday, so we should get all the arrangements and things taken care of before then. I'm looking at airfare and it's really expensive right now, but if you wait till Sunday it goes down by miles, so I was thinking that I should fly out tonight, from Newark, and then you and the kids could follow on Saturday or Sunday? I can stay with David and Katie until then. Or does that sound awful?" she turned, finally, and saw him. "Rob—flowers." She smiled wanly. "Thank you."

"Thought you might like them," he shrugged.

"Too bad we won't be around to enjoy them," she whispered, and then rocked back and shifted, till her arms were wrapped around her shins.

He shrugged, and sat down next to her. "How're you doing?" He wasn't used to this, this prodding; it was always Allison asking the questions and coercing conversation and waiting patiently for responses.

"I'm … still in shock, I think, but … okay," she said, a lock untwisting itself from her bun and falling across her face. She was paler than usual, but otherwise had returned to normal. "It's funny, how I never thought about her … dying. Even though she was 86, she was a constant." She put her head in her hands. "It just feels so surreal. How did the kids take it? You sent them to school?"

"I thought you'd need space," he said. "They took it alright. It's been a while since they've seen her and … it's easier to accept a peaceful death-in-the-night than almost anything else."

"Yeah," she said. "All true. Still though …"

"Shock," he said again.

"Yeah," she sighed, simply and heavily. "Yeah. So, how should we get out there?"

"Whatever you think is best," he answered honestly. "Do you want me to follow with the kids?"

"Not really, but I think it's for the best," she said. "Airfare for today, one-way to Chicago, is almost 600. You go the next day out and it drops 300. David was thinking having the services on Tuesday—he's already contacted the minister at the church we attended—and then I was thinking fly back Wednesday."

"Let's make it Thursday," Robert said automatically. "The kids were alright today but the funeral will upset them. Give them a day to decompress and all."

"Okay," she said. "Thursday it is," she started fluttering with the keyboard, booking herself a 5 p.m. out of Newark and 2 p.m. flights for the five of them the next day. "Shit," she said suddenly. "I still haven't called Elizabeth. And House. What do we do with House?"

"I'll call Wilson," he said. "Can you … can you call Elizabeth?"

"Yeah, I should handle at least one child," she said.

She went upstairs, and he stepped into the living room to call Wilson. "Hey, Chase, what's up?" Wilson greeted genially.

"Well," Chase sighed, "Actually, Allison's mother passed away last night. It was sort of unexpected; she is—was—86. Allison's flying to Chicago tonight and we're following tomorrow."

"Oh, my god. Robert, I'm so sorry. Please tell Allison as well."

"Of course," Chase said, suddenly feeling tired, the confusing charade of grieving from such a distance permeating his brain. "But we need to figure out where House is staying."

"Well, he could stay on our couch, though I doubt he'd like that," Wilson ruminated. "It is a pull-out, though, he'd just have to deal with a four-year-old … and Cuddy is coming tonight."

"I know," Chase reminded him. "As does House, by the way. One of the kids caved—or House figured it out—he said about a week ago."

"He knew she was coming for a _week_? No wonder he didn't try to go to the hospital."

"He did try, obviously, or else the kids wouldn't've cracked," Chase pointed out.

"Well, they _could_ both stay here," Wilson said, and Chase could tell he was trying not to sound too cheerful. Wilson had gotten as bad as Allison with the match-making and dreams of lovely endings.

"_Or_, House could stay here, and you or Cuddy or even Leah or someone could come over. We have three pullout couches."

The details eventually settled perfectly into place, like Mary Poppins guiding dishes into a stack. Allison needed to be at the airport at three for her five o'clock flight; Cuddy's plane landed from Florida at 2:30 so Chase could bring her home and subtly drop hints about how well House was adjusting (that part was Wilson's extrapolation), then spend the night at home with the kids while Cuddy, at Wilson's, figured out where she was going. He shook his head at Wilson's ridiculousness but knew it was a convenient path. Elizabeth would be arriving via NJ Transit at 4:30, and they could pick her up at the Princeton station on their way home. Wilson or Cuddy would then drive them up to Newark the next day.

The car ride to Newark was mostly silent, except for when Amanda called and spoke with Allison for 20 minutes. "There's going to be a family dinner tomorrow night at David's; apparently _everybody _we're related to is coming. Joy." Allison had five nieces and three nephews; the oldest six were all in their thirties at this point, five of them married, four with children, the last (Amanda's oldest, Bryce) had been engaged to the same girl for years and simply never bothered to set a date. The youngest two, adopted daughters from David's second marriage, were somewhere between Rocco and the twins—maybe eighth and ninth grades? He couldn't remember. It was a massive bunch, though.

"You'll like seeing them," he said. "And we'll be there by then, too."

"Yeah," she said, before turning away and staring out the window.

He dropped Allison off, hugging her tightly and reminding her to call when she landed, and then drove 100 yards to find Cuddy, who hugged him tightly and expressed her condolences. "This has been a really rough month on you two, and the kids," she said.

"House has … surprisingly been not bad," he said, turning south onto the Turnpike. "I mean, he completely incited a family rift and has the kids digging through mine and Allison's pasts, but I don't think anyone's cried so far."

Cuddy laughed, soft and ironic. "He incited a family rift?"

Chase shifted. "Yeah. Long story."

Cuddy, at least, knew when not to pry, and said instead, "How's his physio going?"

Chase held back chastising her for not calling. "Pretty well. He seems to be recovering. He's doing the exercises, and Linda told Wilson that he's been using a walker for short periods of time in PT, but he tires easily. He's still having issues with grip, too, the weakness in his hands, legs, and feet. He's been using fairly moderate levels of Vicodin as well. He can't open the bottle without help, though; might be why. He's trying to make a full recovery."

"Wow," Cuddy said.

"He knows you're coming, too," Robert added.

"Never was supposed to be a surprise," she pointed out.

Elizabeth was waiting outside the rail station, bag by her side and jacket wrapped tightly around her. She hugged Robert, then said, "No offense, Dad, but I really didn't want to see you for another month at least."

"I know," he said, unable to come up with something self-deprecating and mood-lifting. "You clear everything with your professors?"

She handed him her bag and bounded to the car. "Yeah. My Joyce professor thinks I'm lying, and my Post-Feminist Literary Theory professor looked like she was about to send a casserole home with me to express her condolences. But it balanced out well. We're leaving tomorrow?"

"Yep. Flight's at two; we should leave by eleven," he swung the door open for her.

They dropped Cuddy off at Wilson's and then headed home. Elizabeth went straight upstairs to unpack, or relax, and he headed (he thought later) straight into the storm he'd desperately wanted to avoid.

Sophie was sitting on the couch in the great room, four photo albums spread all around her. "Working on a school project, Soph?" he asked lightly.

"Trying to uncover the mysteries of your past," she said honestly. She obviously wanted to rip the Band-Aid off what had been eating at her for a week, since Claire had spilled.

"Oh. Have fun then," he moved to go toward the den.

"Dad! Wait!" she called. "Please … I really have to know: What was House talking about?"

"When?"

"When you two were yelling and Claire overheard you. Come on, I know you're not surprised."

"No, I'm not. I'm just surprised you're being this blunt about it."

"We tried being subtle, but Claire can't fish for information."

"Why didn't you ask House what he meant?"

"Because … We sort of did. And he said some stuff, but even House wouldn't tell us the worst stuff. And the stuff we heard, it was, like, gossip. Which doesn't have unnecessary problems attached." He saw the desperation etched on her face, brought on by a week of worry and precipitated by the death of her grandmother. "Come on, what's the skeleton? Did you and Mom kill someone?"

He almost laughed. "Sophie, you have to realize, nothing in our lives that you can't remember would really have … consequences … anymore."

"New information always leads to a new diagnosis."

"What, you think your mother and I aren't your parents anymore?"

"I think … that House wouldn't tell us the stuff he wanted _you _to tell us. And new information is never a bad thing. And you two've been tense since the fight. So he hit something. And House has already told us a lot, and Mom has told us some, but you haven't told us anything."

"What have House and your mom said?" he kept his tone neutral.

"Mom said she definitely, definitely loved her first husband very much and then she said you got fired by House instead of graduating your fellowship."

"None of us 'graduated,' and your mother resigned a day later," he pointed out.

"Right. And House told Elizabeth that, um … you and Mom were like … friends-with-benefits," she rushed that part. "And she mentioned meth."

"And that part didn't upset you? That we didn't have this movie-type meet?" He hadn't wanted to deal with the kids' DARE-inspired lectures on sex and peer pressure and drugs, but he hadn't expected nonchalance. She shook her head. "Glad nobody told you about the storage closet incidents."

"Well, it _did. _It's just such a stupid thing to do I can't believe either of you, you know, did it. I didn't recognize the two of you," she said, trying to figure things out. "But House wouldn't tell stuff he absolutely thought you should share. He would give us clues, and do it for kicks even, but the real stuff he would know we'd have to hear from you to believe."

"Are you _sure_ of that?" he challenged. "Everyone lies, House says, including him."

"He also said Mom asked him out on a date. Is that a lie?"

Robert shook his head, finally sitting down. "No," he said. "That was months before your mother and I had … anything concrete."

"And Mom told Claire that you two were, like, 'not exactly happy people' or some wording along those lines," Sophie continued. "But you've never been happy, not exactly. You've never been all light and carefree, which is sort of weird, because you two are successful and you still get along really well and still do that communicating-without-talking thing. But you don't laugh as much as normal people. And so today I started thinking, that it sort of made sense that Mom wasn't always happy, if the first guy she ever loved was sort of doomed to die. Mom takes things hard. She doesn't forget; sometimes she only says she forgives. So if the first guy she ever loved died she'd always be sort of sad, even though she definitely loves you."

"Your point, Counselor?" he asked.

"Why are you sad, too?" she said simply. "And I was thinking … today… about Grandma … you don't tell us anything about growing up. At all. You played soccer and surfed and went to Catholic school. You don't even have a lot of photos. We hardly ever go to Australia. What … what was _your_ childhood like?" And suddenly she wasn't a child; she was a grown-up, one who knew she'd figured too much out and come too close to the truth and perpetrated her own maturation in a way she'd never intended to.

Robert almost stopped breathing. "Your mother and I," he said evenly, "are, at best, ambivalently happy people. We were _very _different when we were dating, both as people and together. We didn't click and we didn't know what we wanted a lot of the time. But eventually you come to a point where it's you suck it up and work together and start being adults and planning a future, or you toss it. We decided to suck it up. We love each other, we love you kids, and that should be enough for you. We're still opposites a lot of the time: She likes to argue, I don't; she is ridiculously realistic and sometimes I like to _try_ and be romantic; she's impulsive and passionate when she sees a problem, and I try and be rational and analytical. I try to have faith it will work out and will take a step back, and your mother will never back down. And if you haven't noticed, I'm a lot more laid-back, and she … always wants to be in charge. And she's anal. But the important thing is we try to understand each other and we actually work at it, together. House thinks that we're being dishonest with you four by showing our parental side and trying to be good role models and yell at you for screwing up."

"Mom's stuff can be explained," Sophie cut in, ignoring the part about House. "The whole doomed-first-marriage explains _everything._ The 'ambivalently happy' can be explained. Why she has a little less faith in humanity and God but never gives up a fight can be explained. Why she's intense can be explained. Why she takes a more-realistic outlook to things can be explained. But, Daddy, you're like a mystery, and it scares me right now."

"You know, sometimes House gives Elizabeth far too much credit for being the clever one," he said, sitting down.

"Dad, please," she said, looking scared and like she never wanted to have this conversation again. "What was so bad that you can only be ambivalently happy?"

He smiled, despite himself; her total ignorance to how parents could completely screw their kid up meant he _had_ done something right, no matter what House insisted.

"What? Why are you smiling now?" she demanded uncertainly as she felt the ground recede under her argument.

"Nothing, it's just … I'm happy you don't have any clue how truly hard sometimes parents can make your life."

"Your parents? You don't talk about them, really."

He leaned his head on his hands. "Same reason … just that your mother doesn't talk about her first marriage. A—it is really, _truly_ in the past and B—it still can hurt, even if it is in the past."

"What—what were your parents like?"

"My father …" he paused, "was a workaholic. My mother was an alcoholic. They fed off each other. … Fought a lot, messy stuff, I was involved, of course. … Eventually, my father got fed up with her, and left her … left us. He invited me to come along. I … couldn't. I couldn't leave her. She died about five years later, liver cancer fed by her disease, when I was part of the way through medical training. I dropped out for a while, entered seminary, my father… convinced me that I needed to become a doctor. We still weren't on the ups, him and I, but he threatened to cut me off if I didn't and I couldn't handle that. I left for the States when I was finally finished with training. He came to visit, once, and apparently had lung cancer and knew he was going to die. House figured it out but I didn't; neither one of them told me. My father died, I found out from my step-mother over the phone. Screwed up so badly that day I killed a patient. Later I found out my father had cut me off as well." He'd never said it so clearly, so concisely.

Sophie looked horrified, more shocked and scared than when her grandmother had died earlier that day. Her mouth opened, then closed, fishlike; her face crumpled like used paper. "Daddy, I'm so, so _sorry_," she said, curling into his chest and crying. "I shouldn't've forced the issue."

"No, you shouldn't have," he said. "It really is just one of those things that belongs in the past." He was still surprised he had said all of that, and was even more surprised to find how much simpler it had been than he had thought. He was past it. He probably wouldn't ever be able to talk about the details with the girls, even Allison, but giving them the broad outlines … It wasn't as bad as he had imagined. "But now it's out, alright? You and your sisters can freely psychoanalyze me. That's it, though. You know the important stuff. "

"Were … were you abused?" Sophie said carefully. Fearfully.

He barked out a short laugh. "Physically, not really. They both slapped me a few times, but nothing more than what kids _used_ to get in the old days. I rarely went against what they wanted, it was easier not to." He knew that he was admitting to their emotional harm.

"And … I know it's not my place, but … why did you think this would cause problems?"

"Because I didn't—and don't—want to talk about it. When House first met me, first met your mom, both these things were huge parts of us. Now they're not, they're … echoes. Or scars. They don't directly affect us any longer," he sighed. "And how does this change your impression of me, how I've been your dad for so long?"

"It doesn't but …more information is always better."

He shook his head. "Bringing this stuff up … It's really just stuff we've buried because it's been _forty_ years. That's twice your life, there. And if House had kids, they would know every prostitute he's slept with. That's not being a good parent. We tell you the important stuff. Really. Sometimes … sometimes, though, it is better to bury the hard stuff."

She snuggled more tightly into his side. "I _am_ glad you told me though. I'm just really sorry if it hurt you." She sounded almost relieved, more than anything else, but it was still strange. Sophie was the yeller; why wasn't she yelling?

"It … didn't, really," he said, wanting desperately to reassure her. She was acting almost scarily mature; he didn't quite recognize her right then. "It would have come out, eventually. And how are you? You've had a hell of a day."

"I'm … okay," she said. "You can't go back from days, though I want to go back from this one, sort of, this whole month really, but I'm okay. If you're okay." She looked up at him, her eyes expectant.

"I am," he said, and he felt, strangely, that he would be.


	19. Try to Love the Things You Took

**Disclaimer** in Part One

Sorry about the lag in postings! Busiest time of year...Reviewing makes me work faster (hint, hint)!

_And walking arm in arm_

_You hope it don't get harmed_

_But Even if it Does_

_You'll Just do it All Again_

_--Regina Spektor, "On the Radio"_

Despite Chase and Elizabeth's haggard faces, James could barely keep the grin off his face as they dropped Cuddy off at his place that afternoon. Rebecca jumped around for Aunt Lisa, and Leah and Lisa—he'd been so glad when they got along—hugged warmly. She'd brought a huge suitcase, though her return ticket was booked for Tuesday. That was a good sign.

"Pretty crappy month for Cameron, huh?" Lisa said conversationally as she followed James, who was lugging her suitcase, up the stairs.

"She and Chase and the kids … seem to be handling it well enough," James said. "They've had a better time with House than I thought. He's been fun for the kids at least."

"Really, because I heard that he incited rebellion and feuding," Cuddy said wryly.

"He did that, too, but the kids still love him," Wilson wasn't quite sure how or why the Cameron-Chase family was in a tizzy about something House said; House was completely vague about the entire thing. But the kids sounded fine every time he was over at their house.

"He's really recovering nicely?" she said skeptically.

"Ahead of schedule, even," he grinned broadly. "He's really doing well. Hasn't been in the hospital since he was discharged."

"And I'm _not_ supposed to believe there wasn't a bribe involved there?"

"Do I look like House?" Wilson tried for mock-offended. "Anyways, I was thinking of picking him up for dinner, as well as dropping something off for the kids and Chase. It's not like he knows how to cook."

Cuddy pulled a face. "I mean, it's great to bring them food, but can't we just bring House food as well?" He looked at her, first startled, then stern; she caved quickly. "Fine! Okay! I don't know what I'd say to him!"

"Lisa—you _knew_ that he wouldn't go to the hospital; if he did, you wouldn't care. You miss him."

"Of _course_ I miss him; that doesn't mean I want to _see _him."

"Then why did you come back?"

Lisa stopped; it was apparent she hadn't even really asked herself that question. "I lived in Princeton for thirty years; I still like it. I'm interested in making sure House is OK."

"Lisa, I know that you really like the idea of a traditional retirement, but isn't being happier worth something? "

"This child-derived optimism has destroyed whatever street cred you have left," she retorted. "And I'm not miserable in Naples. And, dammit, James, can't the two of us talk about anything besides House? We did use to be friends, you know."

The look on her face told him to stop, immediately. "We _are _still friends, Lisa. And we're still taking him out to dinner. Leah says she can find a baby-sitter on short notice. I'm thinking Sotto?"

"No way," Lisa said resolutely. "I'll watch Becca. I'm not going."

"Lisa!"

"James—you're right. I'm not sure why I'm back. In Florida I'm happy but I'm not, I'm adjusted but I'm not, and it's the same thing here. And drinking wine and mixing your matchmaking with House's presence—I'm not sure if I can handle that. I don't know what I want. What I do know, though, is that I don't want is to see House tonight."

He wanted to argue, but knew it was futile; he couldn't force Cuddy or House to do _anything_. And, in the end, Rebecca had a slight fever that meant that Leah wanted to stay home as well, so he climbed the Cameron-Chase porch steps alone, two bags full of paninis from the twins' favorite café.

Chase, dressed in an ill-matching green button down and green T with jeans, answered the door. "Wilson, hey," he said, surprised. "Didn't think I'd see you until tomorrow."

"I come bearing food," he held up the bags, sure to expose the labels. "And to take House out to dinner."

"Really? He didn't mention it." Chase said, standing aside to let him in and grabbing a bag.

"Yeah, I just thought it'd be nice," Wilson explained.

"Cuddy settle in alright?"

"She's having a girls' night in with Becca and Leah."

"Ah," Chase said. "Guys! Wilson brought dinner! House!"

"How's Cameron?"

"Doing alright. Her flight left on time, and she should be landing in an hour. Her brother is picking her up." James remembered him from the wedding, almost a quarter-century earlier: tall, dark, and handsome, then with three kids and a much-younger girlfriend.

Eventually, the kids poured out from holes: Elizabeth and Claire from upstairs, Rocco from the basement, Sophie from the great room and House from his room. All four kids looked worse for the wear, but Sophie especially looked to be taking the death hard.

"Come on," Wilson said. "We're going out tonight. Reservations at Sotto for seven-thirty."

"I hope your _wife_ is okay with you taking another man on a date," House said.

"Paninis from Camillo? Thanks, Wilson," Claire said, eagerly searching the bag. "This is so much better than Dad's Chinese takeout." She grabbed the ham, pear, and brie one and plated it.

"Hey, now," Chase said. Still, as he grabbed for the bacon-tomato-gruyere he added, "Thanks, Wilson, we really appreciate it."

As soon as he and House left, House turned to him. "So Cuddy came to town? Couldn't stay away, could she?"

James sighed. "Yeah, she's _really _going to love that attitude." He opened the door, adjusted House, tossed the wheelchair in back, and went to the driver's side.

"Yes, because there's another explanation why she would come back twice in two weeks."

"She does like Princeton. She still has quite a few friends around here, you know."

"She feels guilty. This is in the bag."

"House, you can't win her back by playing to her guilt."

"You made a deal with her to come back in two weeks. Obviously, you were appealing to her guilt as well. Also, I don't want to win her back."

"How did you know about me asking her to come back in two weeks?" he asked suspiciously.

"Rocco," House said. "Don't worry, I went easy on the kid. He's a virgin on these things." James noticed that he did look obviously grim from messing with Rocco. Everyone knew House had a soft spot for Rocco, except maybe Rocco, who, like the girls had at his age as well, taken House's affection for granted.

"Cameron will _kill _you if he spills. Also, if you don't want to win her back, what do you want to do?"

House shrugged. "Jimmy, you're as bad as Cameron. We broke up. We got to a point where even your nosing couldn't help. And now, circumstances have changed. She misses me, she feels guilty, she'll _come _back and it will be easier for her to make a compromise. I never said I wanted her to leave, and she never actually wanted to leave. She was only proving a point."

"Proving a point?" James asked skeptically. "House, she was heartbroken when it came down to standing up for herself or leaving you. She's admitted that she still loves you, that she still wants to be with you." He wanted to say something more, maybe about how this was a _big_ deal, but he knew House wouldn't suffer it well.

"I know. And now she knows she'd rather be with me. And," he picked at the crust of the bread, "and I miss her too. Who knows? She came back for something; that means something."

"If you're going to compromise, that means _you _give something up, too."

He shrugged. "Just because I like my condo doesn't mean I like New Jersey winters. I could do Palm Beach in January."

"Still wouldn't be near Lisa; she's in Naples." They pulled into the restaurant parking lot. "Refresh my memory, why didn't you want to move to Florida with Lisa?" He honestly couldn't remember; it seemed like a week of crossed messages and locked stubbornnesses and differing expectations before Lisa had simply packed a suitcase, moved down to Florida, stuck her house on the market and stayed in a hotel for three weeks before finding a new place.

House shrugged, looking apprehensive for the first time that night. "Moving's a hassle. I'm here, why not stay?"

"Is this some sort of Army Brat thing? Lisa gave you everything you ever wanted or needed, on a silver platter. Why would you turn her down?"

House scowled. "It's not _like_ that. It's not some sort of I'll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours bargain. I didn't want to move, and she did. It wasn't a matter of wanting something from her."

"What _do _you want from Lisa, then?" James asked. "This wasn't like Stacy—there wasn't any anger—and you can't tell me you don't miss her. You've been pining for the last six months! And now she's _back _and still misses you, and you're going to be an ass about it?"

"You don't need a reason _not_ to do something, you need a reason to do something." House said, calm and clear. "I couldn't think of a good reason _to _move to Florida."

"Lisa! It would have made Lisa happy!"

"Has it?" House asked. "No. She's away from her friends, farther from her family, and doesn't have anything to do. She obsessively nitpicks that textbook she's never going to finish." Wilson was impressed; he knew that House and Lisa hadn't talked and yet he could still read her.

"That's because she always wanted to retire with you and you didn't want to. And why would you stay away from the hospital for over a week when you knew about the bet?"

"Moving to Florida would have made me unhappy, because there's nothing to _do _there, and then that would have made her unhappy, and we would have driven each other away." He shrugged. "At least this way I didn't have to sell my condo."

"You _wanted_ her to come back, because you thought you could convince her to stay," Wilson deduced. "You're going to argue her back." He sat back and smiled. "You want her to come back."

"Of course I do," House said irritably. "She was an idiot for moving to Florida."

"Well," James said, feeling the perfect moment coming. "You're going to get your chance tomorrow; I'm taking Chase and the kids to the airport and you and Cuddy can … talk." He was pretty sure Cuddy was going to win this particular battle, but it was a start. House was an addict, and with the right incentive, he'd broken his addiction to the hospital. Wilson crunched decidedly into a piece of Sotto's delicious, crusty bread. He was already excited for tomorrow.


	20. There's No Need to Hide Away

**Disclaimer** in part one

Writing/posting today is purely the product of procrastination.

The siblings have fun together!

* * *

_The places you've been_

_The things you have learned_

_They sit with you so beautifully_

--_KT Tunstall, "Universe and U"_

"And that's why Dad's so mysterious," Sophie concluded, looking triumphantly around at all her siblings.

"I can't believe you asked, Sophie," Claire said, her voice aching with sadness.

"You weren't going to. I … I wanted to know," Sophie replied. She suddenly sounded a little upset by the consequences as well.

Elizabeth was impressed. Sophie had figured it out before even asking Dad; had pieced together aspects of her parents' lives that she herself had uncaringly overlooked. Sophie looked proud of her deductive skills, unhappy at the outcome.

"How's Dad taking it?" Claire asked. Their father was currently sequestered in his den, talking to Mom on the phone.

"He actually wasn't as mad as I thought he would be. Sort of resigned, I guess, you know? He did seem past it."

"It's so weird to think of our parents having real lives, before us, I mean," Claire said. "It's different to hear about the funny, stupid stuff, like the meth."

"What meth?" Rocco finally spoke up. He looked ridiculous, Elizabeth thought, wearing light-blue seersucker shorts, a navy-and-red striped Polo complete with popped collar, and Dockers. They were lucky, so lucky, so far, that they didn't have the trauma that had so obviously shaped their parents' existence.

"Mom took meth once, then called Dad for fun," Elizabeth explained tiredly. "Actually," she tried for a scheming grin but didn't quite make it, "apparently, House told me once, they had a special storage closet in the hospital." Her sisters rolled their eyes, and Rocco stuck out his tongue.

There was something about the combination of events from the past month—House's stroke, her grandmother's death, these revelations about her father, college's ordinary assault on your base assumptions about life, the recent news that she received a choice summer internship at _Vanity Fair _(she hadn't even told her parents she was applying because she was positive she wouldn't get it)_, _even that ill-timed date with the cute but old-and-obviously-damaged Luke Haxby—that was wearying.

She thought of her parents' original statuses: emotionally neglected orphan, cancer widow. They were so incongruous to the slightly boring, perfectly normal upper-middle-class family vibes they projected now, and she realized how hard they'd worked to maintain those appearances. Her heart ached for them and the paths they'd been forced upon. Even House, who loved forcing things out via emotional manipulation, had told Rocco off, had misdirected Sophie—even he thought those things should be buried. She felt like she and her siblings had made an awful mistake. At the same time, she felt older, more responsible for her siblings now, and she felt that by having Sophie work out the burning familial mystery she'd let them down. Wasn't that supposed to be an oldest sister's burden? She hadn't been a proper buffer for either her parents or her siblings.

"Also," she continued, one last attempt to lighten the mood, "Why are you dressed like you're about to go smoke Stogies on a yacht?"

"What's a Stogie?" he asked blankly.

She sighed, and smiled. "Nevermind."

"At least I'm not named William Warren Harrington the Third," he shot back.

"How did you know about him? You were like … eight … then."

He shrugged. "Mom and Dad?"

"They told you?"

"Of course," Sophie said. "it was a let-this-be-a-lesson thing."

"We knew about your fake, too."

"And Mom never said anything to me about it?" Elizabeth asked incredulously.

Claire shrugged. "Mom said that, with you, you were so damn stubborn and contrary that telling you to stop would only lead to you doing something that would probably land you in Dad's ICU. So they just kept tight tabs on you and used you as a warning system for us."

"The pot on 4/20—common knowledge as well," Sophie said, and both Claire and Rocco nodded. Elizabeth shook her head; all of this was giving her some awful moral whiplash.

"Let's make popcorn?" Rocco asked. "And put M&M's in it?"

"Why were those both questions?" Claire laughed, and leaned suddenly against Sophie. The twins shared a weird, private moment, and Elizabeth, jealous, turned to help Rocco root through the pantry to find the kernels.

"What do you think Dr. Cuddy coming back means?" Sophie asked.

Elizabeth shrugged. "She was so scared, for House … She thought she was losing him. She definitely doesn't want to give up on him, but she also thinks _she's _always the one making the sacrifices and House need to step it up," she set up the Stir-Crazy their parents had received at their wedding. "I don't know. If she doesn't get that House has given up so much already, she doesn't really get House."

"She makes him _happy_, though," Claire said. "Remember him at Thanksgiving? She'd moved to Florida like three weeks earlier and was spending it at her sister's for the first time in years, and he was _miserable_. And Christmas? That was awful too."

"She's been with him since before Lizzy was born. She'll come back," Sophie said confidently. "House'll convince her. If you make it past the first few years with House you just don't leave him. Look at Mom and Dad."

"You know, Mom said he had another girlfriend before Cuddy; they dated for like five years and then she dumped him because he was too depressing. She also screwed up the infarction surgery," Elizabeth said.

"What if we drizzled chocolate on top of the popcorn, too?" Rocco said, raising his voice a little to emphasize that he was bored with his sisters' gossiping. Elizabeth reached out and messed up his hair. He smacked her forearm away, and she impulsively kissed his cheek just to make him mad. He exaggeratedly wiped at his cheek, and Claire laughed.

"Don't you love having three big sisters to watch out for you?" Claire grinned.

"Yeah, best thing in the bloody world," he grumbled, then laughed, because Rocco could take everything with a grain of salt.

Rocco had very specific ideas on how to make the chocolate-M&M popcorn, and they all stepped back as he carefully melted the chips and sifted everything together. Still, it turned out delicious, Elizabeth thought, salty and rich. She made a mental note to remember the recipe for when one of her roommates had cramps.

She scooped some into a bowl and headed tentatively toward Dad's den. She could hear his music—Dad loved to listen to all the big-name old composers when he got down, except for Mozart. She thought it was Bach's _Brandenberg Concerti_, but she wasn't absolutely positive. She realized with a start how rootless her father was: technically of Czech nationality, but that whole line of Czechs had firmly believed they were English, and then a German-born mother who was technically English as well, and then they'd moved to Australia and then he'd moved to the States. He was genetically engineered for solitude.

"Hey, Dad," she knocked softly and opened the door. He was sitting at his desk, signing a bunch of forms. "How's Mom?"

"She's good," he said. "David and Katie are taking care of her."

"That's good," Elizabeth replied awkwardly. "Rocco sort of invented this popcorn—I mean, it's been done before just not in this house, you know—and I thought you'd like some. It's chocolate drizzle with M&Ms. He wants to add peanuts next time."

"Thank you," he said, accepting the dish. "So you talked to Sophie, then?"

"Yeah," she said, knowing that everything about her voice and body language had given her away. He raised his eyebrows and she said, "'I'm sorry' probably isn't what you want to hear?"

"No, it's not," he said. "You've nothing to say sorry _about_."

"Well, I am," she said boldly. "Just … why didn't you tell us?" She hadn't meant to ask the question; it was prying, it gave _her_ ownership of her father's pain, which she had no right too, it was petulant and she should respect her father more. It just vomited itself out, though.

"I didn't want you to know," her father pointed out. His voice was tired; he didn't want this conversation either but was humoring her because it was good parenting. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want it turning into some sort of _lesson _for you; if any of you had developed _real _drug issues and not just your stupid 4/20 pot fun, I would've taken you to a drug clinic. You don't deserve preaching, and it wasn't relevant to your lives."

"I'm sorry I was too selfish to catch on then, and ask a question," she didn't mean to sound whiny, but again, it just happened.

"You _weren't _being too selfish, don't make this about you. You're upset that one of the twins beat you to figuring out a mystery right now, aren't you?" Elizabeth bit her lip; this was partially true as well. "Sometimes you need to remember the human element here, Lizzy. People aren't playthings, much as House wants you to think so."

"Well, then," she said, trying for a rueful smile. "Thank you for trusting Claire, Rocco, and me, now."

"You're welcome," he said.

She tilted her head, trying to sense the sarcasm; if it was there, it was very light. "Also," she said, sitting down, "how did you know about my fake ID in high school? Claire told."

He laughed. "You're far more transparent than think. Your mum and I figured out when you were about six that if we told you when we knew you were doing something bad, you would just do something worse. We say we know you're riding without your helmet, and then we yell at you for it, and you start riding your bike hands-free. We yell at you for stealing cookies or Barbies and you just try to take money to _buy _your own cookies and Barbies. Or con House. So we stopped buying cookies and started stocking up on books."

"I don't get it—how'd you play reverse psychology on my fake ID?"

"We didn't let you take driver's ed until your senior year, remember?" he raised his eyebrows and grinned. "After you broke up with that Princeton kid."

She opened her mouth, closed it, and smiled. Ingenious, really.

"Anyways," she smiled. "I … I have some good news. I got an internship with _Vanity Fair _this summer. I didn't tell you guys that I was even applying because I was so sure I wasn't going to get it, but I did and I'm pretty excited."

"Sweets, that's fantastic!" her father got up and hugged her tightly. "Maybe a celebratory dinner before you head back to school next week?"

"That will work. I'm planning on going back Sunday night—get some studying done beforehand so I'm not so distracted."

"Perfect," he said. "Lemme finish up this paperwork and then we can pop in a movie? Are you guys all packed?"

She shrugged. "I'm just not _un_packing."

"True," he said. "Check on your siblings, will you?"

"Yeah," she said, and then turned to leave before turning back. "No, honestly, Dad, I have to know: Were you and Mom planning on telling us this stuff about you—your parents, her first marriage—if it hadn't slipped, or Sophie hadn't gone snooping?"

He sighed, and sat back. "Probably not. It's not stuff we wanted dredged up; we don't even really talk about it with each other."

"Wny not, though?" she sat back down. "Talking's good." That wasn't quite true, she realized as she said it; their family had never been big on serious talks. They were affectionate, and funny even, but they were rarely overly emotional. None of the kids needed things to be explained more than once, if that. Unspoken expectations usually took care of problems; when it didn't, the conversation took the clinical form of a differential. They'd learned never to storm out, to argue effectively but not emotionally. There was occasional sniping, or tantrums, or a blow-up fight, but they didn't simply sit, rehash anything. It wasn't their style. They made their own decisions and accepted the consequences, stepped it up when needed. They were trained to do. She suddenly wondered why she was an English major.

"We're still learning that one, Lizzy," he said, ever-patient. He was a good father, really. Such a good dad. And suddenly she saw that his role as a father was only a part of him, that the things she'd criticized him for when she was teenager were part of the whole Robert Chase and had explanations and good reasons, and she desperately wanted him to just be her father again. "And, again, why does it matter? It's _done_."

"Yeah, but it still matters," she said tiredly. She wondered if this achy, swimmy feeling was the true sign of maturation, and not how well she did in college or how well she set herself up for a career or how many cute doctors she dated. "And we're all _really_ sneaky, but you guys are apparently omnipresent and omniscient, as well as being the most skeptical parents ever. You didn't think it would come out in some sort of mind game?"

"Even if I _did_," he said, his voice taking on an edge. "I certainly didn't expect my children to pull a Greg House and constantly keep bringing it up. What part of it's done, and past, and still fairly painful don't you get? You got lucky and have two parents who love and support you through everything, so I really don't have to take this from you, and I don't have to tell you one more time that this conversation is closed."

"Fine," she said. "I just want to say," and she held up a hand before he could actually, fully start yelling, "that I still love you. And I like you even better now. You make more sense as a person. And you're still my dad."

He shook his head ruefully. "You know, you've really grown up, Lizzy."

She felt a funny stirring in the base of her stomach; the whole affectionate-but-not-overly-emotional vibe that defined her family coming into play again. "Thanks," she said uncomfortably.

He hugged her tightly. "You're welcome. That still doesn't mean dating thirty-year-olds is a smart idea."

She laughed, and headed toward the door. "I've had enough drama in my life these past few weeks; I promise I won't be bored enough to do that again for a while." With one last hug, she went to go make sure the twins were packed.


	21. Nothing Underneath

**Disclaimer** in part one. Looking like four/five more chapters and maybe an epilogue? Thanks guys!

* * *

_We're Not the Same, Dear, As We Used to Be_

_The Seasons Have Changed, And So Have We_

_--Death Cab for Cutie, "The Ice Was Getting Thinner" _

"We're not discussing _it_," House announced as they stood on the Cameron-Chase family porch and watched Wilson drive off, one family of five and seven suitcases in tow.

Lisa looked at him. There hadn't been a good moment to say more than hello between the hugging and the car-switching and suitcase-loading. "Excuse me?" she asked.

"We're not discussing Florida. Or argument-inducing things," he announced. "We're going to lunch. Duchovney's, in Pennington, in fact, is where we're going."

"Excuse me?" she said incredulously. "Where did that stroke hit again? You love fighting."

"Wrong," he said. "_You_ love fighting. I like to be right. And I usually am. But that's kind of moot. The point is, we're going to lunch. You're driving."

"Why aren't we discussing Florida?" she asked, guiding him toward the car.

"Because right now you don't know what you want, and you'll do that prickly moody defensive schtick, and then you'll start a fight—you like fights, remember—and I'll make an inappropriate crack about your cleave still as perky as ever, and you'll get madder and then we'll just be arguing and I want to enjoy my pastrami sandwich."

She stopped. He did have a point. "Duchovney's, then?"

"Best pastrami south of the Upper East Side."

"Doesn't sound like a restaurant that would make good pastrami."

"Don't worry; this place makes better matzoh ball soup than your grandmother did."

"Wanna bet on that?"

"Sure; I've had both recipes," House said. "I win. You can pay for lunch now."

She rolled her eyes. "I see how it is."

"If we're not dating, we take turns. Yours just happens to be first."

"Lucky me," she said, propping open the door as he used his grip to pull himself up and slide into the passenger seat.

And, surprisingly, the drive and the lunch were pleasant, almost suspiciously so. House studiously avoided snarking or berating her for the move. He was being charming, dammit, reminding her of what she'd loved most about him. But he was also confusing her; his constant mind games—and not knowing if he was playing a mind game, thus making _everything_ a mind game—had never been her favorite part about House, and they were coming full-force right now. Sparring with House had always been, internally, a grim affair; her stomach cramped as she tried to outmaneuver him, a little voice in her head mocking that it was fruitless. That voice was practically shouting at lunch. But he remained pleasingly snarky, mocking Hartmann and stupid patients and everything innocuously funny.

She finally got the courage to say, "You're doing this on purpose," when they were back at the Cameron-Chases' and watching television.

He looked straight at her. "Of course I am. You're babysitting me. I've learned something over the past several years," she couldn't help it, she leaned forward, imperceptibly but eagerly, "that if I'm _nice_ to you, you give me pills. Two, please."

He held out a trembling hand, and she reluctantly grabbed his Vicodin bottle and unscrewed it. She used her fingers to fish out two pills and held them out to him, grabbing them at the last minute so he couldn't get them. "Why didn't you go to the hospital these last two weeks?" she demanded.

"Because nobody would drive me. Wilson got to the kiddies."

She pulled the pills farther from him. "Is that the only reason?"

"Yes," he said. "And, yes, I knew about the bet from about the first day I felt well enough to go into the hospital."

She handed over his pills and turned back to the television, reaching for the remote to raise the volume. "I knew you would come back," he added after swallowing the pills.

She shot him an annoyed look. "I did not 'come back.'"

"Yes, you did," he said. "Remember when I'm always right?"

"You're not. You _think _you're always right. There's a huge difference."

He shrugged. "I'm not wrong this time. I know you, Elisa Ruth Cuddy, and you came back."

"To _visit_," she emphasized.

"Why visit two weeks after your last visit? You miss me."

"No, House, I don't," she said, trying for wide-eyed convincing honesty. "I'm sorry."

He sighed, and scooted over toward his wheelchair, sliding into it. "If you'd stop bullshitting to yourself about how happy you are in Florida and how being retired and old and out-of-the-loop and out-of-control makes you happy, you _might_ actually be happy. Just a thought. I'm not too good with the happiness thing."

"Different things make you happy at different points in your life," she protested, watching him wheel away. "And where are you going?"

He stopped, and shook his head. "I'm getting a beer from their fridge. And maybe you like heavy metal when you're 20 and jazz when you're 50, but not really. People adapt to circumstances but you don't change. You're still the same person."

"I'm the same person, but my needs changed, so I adapted," she said, getting up and following him. "I needed to retire so I did. I needed to relax so I moved to Florida."

"Did you? Relax?" he artfully maneuvered the wheelchair and the fridge door, and grabbed a drink.

"Yes," she snapped, grabbing the container of pomegranate juice from around him. "I drink wine, I play tennis, I go out to dinner, I run along the beach. I'm thinking about getting a dog."

"Very suitable companion," House said, pushing himself over to the drawer to get a bottle opener. "Whom do you dine with?"

"Friends. Tennis association members. My sister." She grabbed a glass and poured it full.

"Again, such a lovely, lovely time," he said. "Exactly how you want to spend your last twenty or so years on earth."

"Yeah, I do!" she shot back, her voice rising. "I just moved there six months ago; I'm not saying it's not hard or new. But I want a fresh start, a real retirement, and eventually it will feel like home. I'm not going to be stubborn and _cling_ desperately to my old job and my old life. My life was bigger than the hospital and the _puzzle_, even if yours wasn't," her last words were filled with acrimony, and she tried desperately to keep her old wounds closed. "I chose this; this is how I choose to be happy. You chose this too, but you're choosing to be unhappy."

"I hate to tell you, but I'm _not_ unhappy," he shot back, suddenly on the rare defensive.

"Oh, really?" she laughed bitterly; she couldn't help it. She was escalating everything and she didn't know how to stop and slow down and divert this argument. "Because suddenly, you're alone again, and you _hate _that. You're mooching off Chase and Cameron, for god's sakes! No _wonder_ you're at the hospital all the time. I wouldn't be surprised if you go up and visit Foreman at this point! But will you _ever _come down, visit me, look around, give it a chance? No! You've been completely careless with the line between life and death for almost forty years now, and I've stuck by you, scared as hell half the time, and somehow you got lucky and have the chance to go gentle into that good night! You're lucky! You know how many times you _should _have died? And you _don't _take it! You'd rather be here! Why? You like your condo _that _much?"

She knew it was mean, but she flounced off into the living room and turned the volume on the TV up even higher. Eventually, sans beer, he came back into the living room and positioned himself in her life of vision. Arms crossed, he said, "I stayed because I knew you would eventually get unhappy with all the nice weather and the calmness; you won't be happy there until you start a free clinic and found a cure for disease. You're just as bad as Cameron, or Wilson, in your own special way: You need to be in charge, and you need something to be in charge _of_. And I was just supposed to subject myself to that?"

"You had for _years!_" She yelled. "We had a good thing, a working thing. And it's _extremely_ insulting for you to say that I _couldn't _retire. If anything, you being an ass has, somehow, prevented me from retiring! You turned my happiness into a damned self-fulfilling prophecy, and I'm a _little_ tweaked about that."

"We were _working_, that's why it worked," he shot back. "We had things besides each other, that's why we worked. And I'm _sorry_ if being confronted with the reality of your life hurts. It's a lot better once you accept it: You can't just 'retire.'"

"I'll find other things to be involved with in Florida. You find new interests, new things, new causes, charities."

"Who says Florida is the best way to do that? You can do that here."

"It just … is. It's a break. Not a permanent vacation, but a clean break from your working life. It gets you away. You start over."

He laughed harshly. "You're sixty-five, Cuddy. You qualify for Medicare. You're not going to change. And those charities, those causes? There are a lot more around here, where you have people to call on and your _network_ and god knows what else, to be more effective. You like effectiveness," he shifted, his look the intense, scary one she simply couldn't turn away from, and changed the playing field again. It was unfair, she thought, the way he could just command the entire board while she was still trying to figure out one of his tactics. "I miss you."

"I miss you too," she whispered, desperate and weak. "I would have been _so _much happier if you would have just moved down with me. But I'm not moving back for you. I had to move for me."

"You made a deal with Wilson, to come back in two weeks," he said. "Make a deal with me." It was a bold statement, the closest he'd come to an actual romantic declaration in a long time, and it took her aback.

"A deal?" she asked skeptically.

"Three months in Florida. Nine months here."

"What, you want me to take care of you again? You wouldn't've made this deal three weeks ago."

He shrugged. "Probably not. You know Wilson, with his _morals_, denying me the things I'm addicted to so I know the things I need," he looked like he was contemplating that statement. "He's good at that."

She sighed. "And so three months in my new, expensive condo is a compromise?"

He shrugged. "Worth it for twelve months of happier-than-you-are-now-ness. If it gets icy we can go down sooner."

She looked at him, his eyes open and clear. Such a rare thing. He really was offering it up, really was asking to be with her, really was making the big step. The _we_, for the first time since this miserable fight exploded almost a year ago, was back. She wanted desperately to curl into him, to have him be long and expansive on the couch again, instead of shriveled into himself in a chair, hug him, touch him, connect to him. But she was suspicious. She stood abruptly instead.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why the change of heart?" she demanded. "Why now? Why did you just say that you could move _with _me, live _with _me, make things _actually_ happen, now?"

He shrugged. "I figured you had to get something from winning the bet."

"House! Not an answer!"

"Because … let's face it, I'm not going to get my legs back to the point where they were. I'd rather have the highest level of mobility that I can for as long as I can. Ice doesn't help that. Because I missed you. And because you're sort of right with the whole point-making earlier."

"I'm right?"

"Yes, but I _knew_ those things before you said them. So I'm still right, first."

She shook her head, trying to shake her thoughts out. "I … I need to go for a walk. Are you okay here for a bit?"

His eyes closed up like a vault, and he nodded. "I have beer. I have chips. I have the porn channel."

She made a wide loop around their neighborhood, waving to the few people she recognized but mostly keeping pace with the drumbeat of House's words. Three months in Florida, nine months in Jersey. Would she really be happy with that? She _liked_ Florida, she honestly did. She _would _be happy there, alone, eventually. His reasons and his pseudo-apology sucked, but he had known about the bet, had wanted Wilson to win, had wanted to stay away from the hospital. The way he'd acted the first time around … not acceptable. Most of the way he was _still _acting … not acceptable. His smugness, the way he could anticipate her moves before she could, his _insistence _that he was right—as well as the fact that he _was_ right—were all negatives. She didn't know why, or when, she depended on House for her happiness, and she knew that he was possibly the worst person in the world to be an emotional crutch. Maybe she'd been right to leave him the first time around. She was still young, there were probably some nice … widowers … in her area.

But maybe this was the point where she stopped fighting it, just give in to his terms and live with them. Her mother had always said she fought too much to have a husband, that she could only drive people away. The statement had dogged her from the time she was 17 to her mother's death. This could finally take off and be a semi-successful relationship. House was anything but perfect; now, weakened and old, he was even less so. There'd be a lot of too-gentle sex, a lot of taking care of him, fights when she nagged him about his pills. And she really, truly, did not want to be in Princeton so much.

But it was better than being alone at this point, and she knew House completely, loved him still, for some reason, and now, six months after she left, she considered the possibility she'd made a mistake. She didn't want to tell him he was right, because he would doubly win (in the fact that he was right _and _because it meant she lost) but she _could_ do charity and things from Princeton; she could still play tennis in Princeton. She could give a little.

She contemplated it; it wouldn't be giving in, so much, more like letting go. This could work. Lisa allowed herself to feel giddy, an emotion she'd worked her whole life to suppress. They would have to work to make it work, but it _could _work.

She walked back at a much quicker pace, let herself in through the unlocked back door. He had managed to ease himself over onto the couch and had a bowl of chips in his lap. He looked up as she came in. She thought his expression was hopeful but she couldn't quite tell.

Impulsively, she slid into the space next to him, filling it up and wrapping her arms around him. "So, I get three months in Florida?" she asked. "Which three?"

He smiled at her, surprised. "Whichever ones you want," he said carefully.

"I'm thinking January, February, and March," she said, trying to look thoughtful. "But I'm reserving a freak-storm-in-April clause." Her expression turned serious. You could—can—be happy with this?"

"I wouldn't've proposed it if I wasn't," he said seriously. "Three months—no ice—we'll consider it a health retreat." It was easier for him, she realized, to simply phrase it that way.

"And you won't … be …" she tried to articulate her worries. Angry? Cantankerous? Curmudgeonly past the point of no return? "Bored?" she asked.

He rolled his eyes. "Probably. But there's horse tracks down there. I'll take up … deep-sea fishing. Croquet."

She laughed. "And living together?" He'd actually done it before, she realized, with Stacey. She hadn't. She wondered what that said about her.

He shrugged. "Extra rooms for space, and I hope you like to do dishes."

She laughed. "So, what do we do now?" She realized his apartment hadn't been cleaned in months, wondered about her clothing stores, starting mentally calculating whether she could rent out her condo for those nine months.

"Well," he said, his fingers tracing circles on her lower back, "we make out like teenagers, because I have missed that," he leaned over and kissed her, and she realized she'd missed that, too. "Then I suggest you go to Wilson's and get your stuff. Then dinner and sex."

She laughed. "You really, truly just don't change do you?"

"Not one bit," he replied, shifting her farther onto the couch.

"House—not here. This is Chase and Cameron's _couch_. Seriously."

"This couch has definitely seen it all," he pointed out.

Two hours later, she left, ostensibly to get dinner and her things from the Wilsons'. With as much dignity as she could muster, she knocked before walking into the kitchen.

In one of the cutest scenes she'd ever seen, Wilson was gluing macaroni shapes to construction paper with Becca. He stopped and looked up at her sheepishly. "Hey," he smiled. "You wanna join?"

She was about to say no, but then she smiled. "Sure," she said, pulling a piece of purple paper from the stack and grabbing a handful of macaroni pieces.

"Aunt Lisa! Lookit mine," Rebecca crowed.

"It's very pretty, Becca. Could you pass the glue please?"

"So how was lunch with House?" Wilson asked curiously, sprinkling glitter over some glue.

"It was good," she said. "We went to Pennington's."

"He likes their pastrami."

"They do a good matzoh ball soup as well," Lisa said, trying to figure out how to approach the next bit.

"And it … wasn't awkward?"

"No. His one ground rule was that we just didn't discuss Florida."

"And you went with that."

"It made for a very pleasant lunch."

"You two … didn't talk about the main problems, then?"

"We talked _eventually_. Just … not at lunch," Lisa concentrated on applying glue to a shell.

James scrutinized her. "Becca, sweetheart, I think we're out of the good glitter. Can you go get it from the crafts closet? Please." As soon as Becca had bounced away, he turned to her and said, "Oh, my god, you slept with him."

"We _were _together for 25 years," she pointed out coolly.

"You two talked, though? Is he going to Florida? Are you coming here? _Please _tell me you're not stupid enough to have slept together before deciding this. Sex _confuses _things." He sounded scandalized in a jaded sort of way, as if he were dealing with slow-minded teenagers who were still figuring out what went where.

"James, I'm _sixty-five_, not sixteen!" she said. "Yes, we talked. And … we'll be living here most of the year. I'm going to need your help cleaning out his place—nobody's been living there for a month, it must be a mess. But he proposed winters in Florida, and honestly, with his leg and everything it's going to be for the best. And I'd rather be with him here than there without him. Doesn't that sound so pathetic? But I'm going to push back my plane ticket and fly out Friday, once Chase and Cameron are back, and then pack and get everything in Florida squared away, and then I'll be back," she tried to smile, but it came out more of a grimace. "I know that it's fast but we don't exactly have much time on our side."

"Are you happy? You don't look happy."

"No, I … I am. It was just so … simple and non-complex, getting to the 'agreement.' I'm not used to that from House." She grinned. "I kind of like it." She stood. "I'm going to get my suitcase, and then I'm going to go grab some dinner. You up for lunch sometime tomorrow?"

"Sure," James looked actually shocked that his plan had somehow worked, but he managed to get the words out.

"Great," Lisa smiled. "Thanks, James."


	22. Steal My Heart and Hold My Tongue

**Disclaimer** in part one

* * *

_And the Wheels Just Keep On Turning_

_The Drummers Begin to Drum_

_I Don't Know Which Way I'm Going_

_I Don't Know Which Way I've Come_

_--Coldplay "Till Kingdom Come" _

It had been a long day, Claire thought tiredly, as she worked herself deeper into Uncle David's couch cushions. They'd buried Grandma Nina earlier that morning, a numb, confusing affair that had left Claire nauseous and head-achy. Mom had taken it especially hard; Claire suspected she felt guilty about not being there. Everyone in their family could feel guilty at a drop of a hat, something House mocked regularly. Someone always retorted that it was called having a conscience, but House wasn't there to make the joke today. She wished he was; it could lighten the mood and distract everyone from the pervasive, overwhelming sadness at a death that had been a long time coming.

After that, forty-plus who comprised Nina's immediate family—Claire's parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, cousins-in-law, Bryce's girlfriend, Aunt Katie's two married children from her first marriage and their families, Uncle David's first wife (who apparently was very close to Nina _and _to David, which was just weird) and her second husband and two kids from _that_ marriage, and her cousins' kids, which Mom said made them her first cousins, once removed—went out to lunch, a big, confusing mass of mostly-strangers. She'd talked to Uncle David about her excitement about Penn and graduation (which he promised to come to, and she knew he would) and to David's two youngest daughters, who were in tenth and eighth grades, but mainly she'd talked to Rocco, Sophie, and Lizzy. Amanda's and David's branches were complicated tangles of grandchildren and step-siblings and spouses, and her family unit was still relatively compact, and she receded into its smallness. Plus, her family had a definite distance from the other two groups, who had grown up at the same time in nearby places. They were younger and farther, and today, while it was awkward, she relished it. It made it easier to think.

After lunch, her cousins picked up their children and got into minivans to suburbs unknown, and then Mom took them on a short, wending tour through Park Ridge to show them where she'd hung out as a teen. For the past decade, they'd pretty much only returned to Chicago for weddings, sometimes for a post-Christmas visit, and they'd always stayed over by Uncle David's, in Naperville, because Mom had always liked Naperville better. Most of the area had changed, and Mom listlessly pointed out diners that were now home-furnishing stores and Christmas-tree parking lots that were now halal delis.

They'd returned to Uncle David's, acted like ghosts bumping into each other all afternoon, and then Elizabeth and Sophie, along with Jessica and Lauren (David's youngest two) decided to head to Woodfield Mall as a treat. Meaghan and Colleen, David's oldest daughters, and their kids went with them, a bungling mix of ages. Claire had opted out, though, and was now curled around a book in their den.

She jumped when she heard noises on the stairs. Turning, she saw her mother, dressed down in jeans, Tory Burch flats and a coral silk V-neck layered under a long bone-colored cardigan, gathering her keys in the entryway. "Oh, hey," Mom said as she noticed Claire. "I thought you went shopping with your sisters and cousins?"

She shook her head. "Didn't feel like it. Where are you going?"

Mom stiffened. "Out. I need to go on a drive. Run some errands."

"Oh. Can I go?" Claire sat up and ran two fingers through her messy dark hair.

"Well," her mother hesitated. "I'm actually going … out to Evanston."

"Oh? Like to see Northwestern?" They'd visited her mother's alma mater once, when maybe Meghan had gotten married, because Elizabeth had been a junior and considering the school.

"Well … not exactly. My, um, my first husband … is buried out there. I'm going to go … visit. It seemed like an appropriate weekend."

"Oh. Does Dad know?" the question came reflexively. She still couldn't wrap her mind around the idea that her dad wasn't her mom's One True Love.

"Of course," her mother shot back immediately, irritated. "He's taking Rocco to bond over Chinese food for dinner, after he gets done yelling at his staff."

"Oh, okay," Claire said dumbly, because there wasn't an appropriate answer to her inappropriate question. "Can I … can I still come with you? I … I can stay in the car." Truthfully, she didn't want Chinese food with her brother and she didn't want to stay with her anonymous relatives. And she needed to know, for some reason, the same way Sophie needed to know what Dad's mysteries were.

Mom seemed to understand, though. "You know what? Alright. But you might want to change first. Actually, were you _lying down _in that dress?"

Claire looked at her dress: Gorgeous and new, it was coarse silk, sleeveless and black, with a tank neckline and an empire waist that caused it to bubble out a little, ending at her knees. There was a subtle bow to cinch the waistline, and she wore white Wolford tights underneath. It had been expensive; not exactly a dress to loll around in. "Um, yes?" she said.

Mom rolled her eyes, probably thinking about dry-cleaning and daughters who didn't care for their pretty, expensive clothing. "Five minutes, okay?"

Claire bounded upstairs and put on lacy black tights and a navy tunic dress. She shoved her feet into gold flats and grabbed her buttery-gold leather bomber jacket on the way out. "Ready," she said breathlessly as she reached the bottom.

Mom looked nervous, like bringing along Claire was a very, very bad idea suddenly. "You realize it's almost an hour away, right?"

Claire shrugged. "Do you want me to bring a book?"

It came out a little more harshly than she had planned, and Mom shut her mouth abruptly. "No, no. Just telling you."

"Okay. It's cool."

They got into the car and drove in silence for the first ten minutes, then Claire finally got up the courage to ask, "Mom? Can you tell me about him?" she wasn't curious in the obsessive way that Sophie was or in the nosy was Elizabeth was, but this had kept her wondering for days, ever since she'd overheard Dad and House. And her grandmother's death, watching her mother grieve, was having a weird, reverse affect on her: Instead of wondering about her grandmother's past, watching her mother process grief was making her _need_ to know more about her mother, before she lost her as well.

"Him? You mean … oh," Mom said, staring at the road. "I … I guess. Well. His name was Andrew. Andy. He had been a senior at Northwestern when he was diagnosed with … thyroid cancer. I met him about two years later, when it was getting pretty bad. I was a junior at the time . He … picked me up … by the coffee cart in the lobby. He waited three dates to tell me that he was sick. By that time I didn't really care," she shook her head and smiled. "I was absolutely crazy about him. It was unreal."

"How long was it until you … got married?"

"About six months, toward the end of my junior year," Mom sighed. "He died about six months later."

"Why … Why did you marry him?"

Mom stared out the windshield for a while. "I was … I was crazy in love with him. College is rocky, rockier than you're ever going to imagine, and … he was there. And he listened. His sense of humor was fantastic and he was so … perfect. He just _got _it. I didn't know he was sick; he kept it hidden for a while. Once I knew I knew had something bigger than just my pre-med classes and my research and my volunteering and getting drunk randomly at bars with a bad fake. And he made me feel so … important. I was the center of his universe and that was … appealing. And even though he was sick, he never _acted _like it, you know? He always wanted to hear about my day and he could make me laugh. I was the one who stressed and fought and interpreted the doctors. His dad had left when he was a kid, his mom died in a car accident the year before he was diagnosed. His best friend's family had all but adopted him, but that's not enough when you're 24, you know?"

"So … you married him?"

Her mother laughed bitterly. "It will, I swear it will, make sense one day Claire. You're … you're a lot like me. And being in love for real, for the first time was absolutely overwhelming. Nothing, nobody, acts the way you thought it would. It was perfect, but crazy. And you throw in that he's sick … you're practically drowning. It's indescribable. Your grandmother thought I was crazy," she was quiet. "Anyways, I tried to accept his death. By that point I was in my first year of med school, and the only good thing was that most of the professors knew that I'd just lost him. I couldn't stay there, though—everything reminded me of him. I talked to a few professors, to his oncologists, and got myself transferred to Washington. I … couldn't deal with it; I made up the courses I still needed for my bio degree from Northwestern that first summer."

"So that's why you moved to St. Louis?" That part had never quite made sense in her head.

"Yeah, that's why," Mom stared ahead.

"Who did you love more?" Claire braced herself, shrank a little into the chair. She didn't know if she wanted to know. The loss that had shaped her mother seemed almost overwhelming at this point; for the first time, she considered that her mother loved this other guy more.

"You couldn't ask me about every time that I smoked a joint?" her mother tried to deflect, almost desperately.

"You—you don't have to …" Claire trailed off.

"No," Mom said. "The truth is, I don't know. It was very difficult to reconcile the end of my relationship with Andy. And we didn't have any time. Foreman brought up once … literally _right_ before I started things with your father … that he died when I loved him most. Which was true, you know. The biggest fight we ever got into was because I was angry when he decided to stop with the experimental treatments and just do palliative. We were together a year but some days I can replay that entire year, over in my head, the entire day," she shrugged. "And with your father it's different. We've been together 25 years, and hopefully we'll still be around in another 25. It lasts. When we die I'll be buried next to him. There are days when we fight and when I don't want to talk to him, but they're so counter-balanced by everything good that came out of it."

"Is the whole meth thing true?"

Allison laughed. "Did anyone _ever _give you guys the context for that?"

"No. That's why it's so weird."

Her mother rolled her eyes. "We were treating an AIDS patient with another condition. I was running tests and he _coughed _blood into my _mouth_. I was a little freaked out. He told me how fantastic his life was, he was free to do what he wanted, new lease on life blah blah blah, and then he told me where his stash was so we could test it for impurities, maybe that was the cause. … Point is, he told me I needed to 'loosen up' or something like that, and offered me the drugs. And so I went a little tested the drugs, found out they were –well, they were as safe as methamphetamine could get—and then called your father, who I knew liked me, and asked him about getting a drink. _Then _I took the drugs. It's not like I went on a … bender or something. And it's not like your father took advantage of me."

"A _patient_ coughed blood into your mouth?"

"Sometimes it happens when you're a doctor, Claire. Foreman caught a deadly brain infection; _that_ one was a close call."

"_And _you called Dad when you thought there was a change you had HIV?"

"Nobody _actually_ thought there was a chance, it was a less than a 1 percent probability. Your dad and I both knew the risks going in, and may I _please_ remind you I was 28 at the time?"

"We're not planning on going out and doing that. Not even Lizzy. I think," Claire pondered the possibility. Elizabeth would do that. "The … friends-with-benefits rumor?"

Mom rolled her eyes, dramatically this time. "Also true. I didn't know what I wanted. Thank God your father did. Another one of my ideas that I didn't quite think through before acting on the subconscious."

"I don't think I'd do that. Sophie and Lizzy could though," Claire pondered. Lizzy probably already had.

Mom shook her head and smiled. "I'm very glad to hear that but honestly … I would have said the same thing when I was 18. Still did it. Life gets really hard post-high school, honey. Watch out for that."

"Great," Claire said sarcastically.

"Don't worry. I think you're going to do great," she turned to her mother, who smiled at her and squeezed her arm gently. "Look, we're in Evanston."

"So this is where you went to college?"

"Yeah," Mom said. They were skirting Northwestern, driving through wet residential streets instead. She could see peeks of the lake, sometimes, but mostly the scenery was the heavy hooded trees. Mom didn't point any details out, but Claire could see she was practically drowning in her thoughts.

Claire's sensitivity to Mom's moods meant that she could feel the cemetery approaching before she could actually see it. They drove through the gates, the gravel crunching under the wheels, and Mom unconsciously found the spot. She turned off the engine and said, "Mind waiting here a little bit?"

"Not at all," Claire said, trying for reassuring.

She watched her mother tramp steadily across the grass, lifting her feet high so that she wouldn't get her jeans wet. She stopped at a grave under a tree. It was completely covered by the slants of the late-afternoon shadow.

Claire waited about ten minutes, watched her mother stand stock-still. Finally, she opened the door quietly and made her way to her mother. She slid her hand into hers, and Mom leaned her head on Claire's shoulder. Claire stared at the grave marker. The name and inscription and dates stared back at her, unblinking. Tears sprung to her eyes involuntarily.

They stood silently, and the world stood with them. Finally, after an eternity, Mom straightened. "Come on, Ceecee," she put her arm around Claire's shoulder. "Let's get back."


	23. In Search of All Things Beautiful

**Disclaimer **in part one.

Two more chapters, plus an epilogue!

* * *

_Life Began When I Saw Your Face_

_And I Hear Your Laugh Like a Seranade_

_How Long Do You Want to Be Loved?_

_--Dixie Chicks, "Lullaby" _

By the time they got him, Allison was ready to sue … anyone. First, a storm caused an electrical outage at four a.m., thus ensuring nobody's cellphone charged and they all overslept. After barely making it to the airport, the perky desk attendant informed them that a computer glitch had erased Elizabeth's and Rocco's return reservations. Thank God she'd printed out the receipts; they would have had to stay in Chicago otherwise. Security lines had stretched on for forty minutes, giving the kids ample time to get annoying. Their flight had been delayed, then cancelled due to equipment malfunctions. The next flight was to LaGuardia, instead of Newark, but they took it anyways. Of course, that meant they had to get to Penn Station to catch the NJ transit train to Princeton Junction, where Wilson had put the car earlier that day so they could drive home. And after that trip on the Long Island Railway to Penn Station, she had a special brand of hate for them even more viral than her dislike of NJ Transit. The kids were irritable, and tired, and they had seriously left the hotel 16 hours earlier, she calculated as she slammed the door shut, just happy to be in her own driveway.

"I could sleep right here," she announced, and she seriously contemplated just staying in the parked car.

"Perfect, more room for me in the bed," Robert shot back.

"It's a king. How much _more_ could you possibly need?"

"Come _on_, Mom," Rocco interjected, stumbling toward the back door.

"Does this mean I don't have to go to school tomorrow?" Claire asked.

"Honestly, yes," her dad promised.

"Robert!"

"I'm not going to be checking to see if they're up in six hours," he replied.

And, of course, House had left the lights on downstairs. It was past midnight; there was no way he was up. He was old now. She all but stomped toward the kitchen as Robert and the kids tiredly meandered toward the door.

Slamming the bag down on the floor, she was about to go _wake_ House up to make him turn off the lights when she noticed that Cuddy was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping tea in a deep purple bathrobe and reading a book. "Oh. Hello," Allison said awkwardly.

"Hey! You guys made it home," Cuddy jumped up. "We … we tried calling you earlier."

"There … was a power outage at the hotel. All our phones died." Allison said, still not moving.

"Mom! Don't block the door," Rocco said irritably. She stepped aside and he came in. "Oh, hey Dr. Cuddy. What's up?" Allison wanted to laugh at his nonchalance.

"Not … much," Cuddy said awkwardly. "How … was your flight?"

"It took _forever_," Rocco said. "Plus they completely tried to kick me off the flight. It's not like I'm a terrorist, you know?"

"Cuddy," Robert said, surprised, as he came in. "Hi."

"Hi, Chase," Cuddy said, giving him a little wave. "Hey, girls," Allison turned to see the girls behind her.

"Oh, so it's like _that_ now?" Elizabeth said brightly. "Mazel tov!"

"Thank … you," Cuddy said awkwardly.

"Guys, aren't you exhausted?" Allison quickly interjected, looking at their bemused smiles. Rocco, who looked like he finally caught on, looked like he was about to say something massively inappropriate.

"Yeah, but is House still up?" Sophie asked.

"He … went to sleep a while ago," Cuddy said, the situation becoming more awkward by the minute.

"Couldn't sleep, then, huh?" Elizabeth said, smiling brightly. At her parents' looks, she yelped, "I'm sorry! I can't help it! It's sweet!"

"Yeah … not the images I want to see right now. I just want to see … jumping sheep … or something," Claire said. "G'night all. Nice to see you again, Cuddy." She and Sophie trooped toward the stairs, Rocco closely in tow.

"Good night!" Cuddy called awkwardly after them. After Elizabeth noticed that both parents were giving her pointed looks, she quickly jumped into action as well, practically sprinting up the stairs.

"So … it's like that now?" Robert repeated. Allison noticed he was holding back a smirk.

"Yeah, well, we … had a chance to talk. And we honestly didn't think you were coming back tonight; we tried calling and I was worried about House getting around in the morning…" Cuddy stared at her fingernails.

"It's fine. I mean … you're sharing a room with him, right?" Allison asked. Cuddy nodded. "And you guys … actually worked things out? This isn't because … he's sick and you're …" Actually, she didn't know what Cuddy was right now.

"No," Cuddy said sharply, and Allison was reminded of why she'd always been scared of Cuddy. "It's not. We … talked. We're working things out. I'm flying back to Florida on Saturday, to get things straightened out there. … James and I have been cleaning out House's apartment and once I get everything settled in Florida I'll be back."

"You're moving _back_?" Allison was astonished; Cuddy had been so damn definitive about leaving.

"We came up with a cold-weather compromise. It's better for his leg anyways. Less chance of slipping and falling."

"True," Allison said. "You're moving in together?"

"Allison," Robert said gently, indicating that _maybe_ she was prying.

"Right. Sorry. Anyways, I should get to bed, I'm exhausted," Allison said, trouping toward the stairs. "Um. Goodnight, Cuddy."

"Goodnight," Cuddy waved slightly.

"Smooth questioning, there," Robert snarked as he took her suitcase.

"Aren't _you_ a little surprised?" she hissed. "Two weeks ago she's storming out of meetings because she doesn't want to deal with him!"

"So? They said they worked it out," Robert said reasonably.

"But do you _actually _believed that happened?"

"Probably. They're like 70. Fact is, they know how to problem solve. They'd be dead by this point otherwise. Evolution, and all."

"That doesn't mean they can't make stupid decisions. They're both in vulnerable positions right now." She began rooting through her bags for a toothbrush.

"You sound like Claire. Or worse, Wilson," Robert shrugged off his sweater and shirt, and looked as though he wanted to crawl into bed without brushing his teeth. He was definitely not getting a good-morning kiss in that case.

"Wilson has their best interests at heart," she protested.

"Right, and Wilson's schemes for their best interests always work out."

She emerged from the bathroom and theatrically fell on the bed. "You know what? I can't even remember what I'm concerned about. I'm that tired." She propped her head up. "It's been a hell of a week, hasn't it?"

He sighed heavily, collapsed onto the bed as well so their heads were near but their legs went in opposite directions. His hands sought hers, and he squeezed her fingertips gently. "You okay?"

She thought. "Yeah. I'm … sadder than I would have expected, but nothing … big. Just, you know, continuously sad." She rolled to face him as well. "I … I can't believe I let Claire come with." She'd mentioned the visit in passing, but he'd simply looked at her appraisingly before they moved on.

"She seemed … fine … when she came home."

"I almost want to say she was relieved, but I honestly have no clue why."

"I'm done trying to read our daughters. Sophie and Lizzy both threw me for absolute loops this week. I can't believe how clever and … grown-up they both were. But that's it. I'm focusing exclusively on Rocco from now on out."

"He's certainly easier than the three of them," she agreed quietly. She wondered how she'd gotten to this point, where their lives and thoughts and the compartments of themselves they'd fought to keep hidden simply melded and merged. It seemed like the reverse of the path of most couples; they were still learning new things about each other and opening up emotionally, while other couples drifted and closed up shop. All the talks explaining how they don't talk that they've delivered to the kids over the past weeks are completely true; the thoughts and beats and ticks get them through the big stuff. Yet, to their happy and whole children, that seems like such an anomaly, the opposite of how life and love should work. Her kids are lucky.

They actually fell asleep like that; it was only after she developed a crick in her neck that she shifted and moved under the covers, pulling Robert up as well and throwing the covers over him.

Even though she was still tired, she woke up early, just after eight. Robert was still sleeping, and she slipped out and headed down to the kitchen.

Surprisingly, House was up, sitting at the table reading the paper. "I hope you're not doing the crossword," she said. "Chase'll kill you."

"Please. Even I know not to press _that_ button."

"So what are you doing up? And you invited another houseguest?" she laughed at the pun. House. Guest. Heh.

"That's not as funny as you think," he said, making her smile drop immediately. "And yes … Someone needed to stay. What if I _fell_?"

"I get that, I just thought you'd pick Wilson."

"Cuddy has better … benefits," he leered.

She pulled a face at his implications. "So you two are … two again?"

"No, 69 and 65."

"You know what I mean. Are you moving to Florida?"

"Don't get your hopes up quite yet. We're staying in Princeton most of the year. Florida when it gets cold."

"Greg House, snowbird?"

"Greg House, MD, suffering in silence for three months out of the year."

"Greg House, MD, closet romantic."

"Allison Cameron, meddler and flagrant romantic."

She laughed, and shook her head. "Sadly, I'm not the romantic here. That's more Rob's department," she stirred milk into her coffee. "So you guys are … happy?"

He gave her a withering look, and she held up her hands. "House … You were _miserable_ and we were all really concerned. And I mean, of course you'll be happier _with _her, but you've insisted and insisted that you're not going to be happy in Florida. What changed?"

"I caved," House said solemnly. "Your meddling and Wilson's lectures. 'Swhat did it."

"House," she said seriously. "This is like, it. You go, you move in with each other, one of you gets crabby and it's pretty much over. Neither of you will give it another chance. So what happened?"

"People _change_. Love _changes_ people," he repeated.

"For your sake, I hope so," she said. "I just want to see you happy."

"Dear God, don't you have three daughters to line up rich husbands for, Mrs. Bennett?"

She stiffened at the thought of weddings for her baby girls. "No. They can wait another decade or so," she sipped her coffee. "Anyways, actually, all three of them pried pretty much every long-dead issue up this past week, so good work. You trained them well."

"Chase's parents, your dead husband, the meth, the friends with benefits?" He cocked his head. "You two _really_ got boring after a stretch. Finding you hooking up in closets isn't fun after the first time."

"And amazingly you still speak to us," she shook her head and smiled. It _was_ a testament to how much he had changed, how he still agreed to associate with them once he figured them out, wholly. "All got out. Strangely, it was the twins. Not Lizzy. And they're fine. Chase might even speak to you again."

"Chase would never not speak to me," House protested.

She tilted her head. "He was pissed, and you knew it."

"It's Chase. It's you. Neither of you can stay pissed at me for very long."

She tilted her head and smiled, wagging a finger playfully. "One day, House, you'll see."

Suddenly the kitchen flooded with people: Cuddy, Rob, all four kids seemed to swarm in immediately. Rob grabbed the crossword while the kids argued playfully about the cereal. Cuddy stood awkwardly in the corner until House pulled her down into the seat next to her, where he began whispering into her ear.

"Hey Dad?" Sophie said, in a tone that clearly meant she was asking for something. "Could you maybe make pancakes? If you want to?"

"Pancakes? _Pancakes_? I give you a roof and a car and you want _pancakes?" _he joked.

"Maybe even peanut butter with chocolate chips?" she added hopefully.

"No way, the peanut butter makes it _gross_," Lizzy protested. "Blueberry?" Allison had to agree; the peanut butter pancake had come from an experiment when the twins were eight and they'd never let them go.

"Half lemon-blueberry, half peanut butter chocolate," Robert offered. "House, Cuddy, pancake preferences?"

"Chocolate chip," House said, as Cuddy said, "Blueberry." Robert nodded and got to work.

"Guys, I know we said you don't have to go to classes but I want you to drop by the school and pick up your extra work this afternoon," Allison said, lifting the Happenings section.

"Yeah, and I have to go into the hospital to check in on things," Robert said. "Al, you coming?"

"Probably should," she considered.

"Anyone else? Lizzy? Cuddy? House?"

House looked up; Allison could tell that, despite his cocky words, House had been afraid that Robert really was upset with him. "Actually, yes," he said. "I should probably get a few things."

"Cool," Robert said.

"Maybe a chess re-match later?" House asked.

The offer gave Robert pause; he smiled. "You're on."

"Dad's teaching me to play, House," Rocco said, sticking his finger in the peanut-butter batter.

"I'll challenge you to a game. Loser is at the winner's mercy for a day," House offered. "If only you were female … and hot." Cuddy smacked his head lightly. Allison smiled, Rocco laughed and accepted; all felt well enough again.


	24. Sooner or Later They'll All Be Gone

**Disclaimer **in part one.

If this were "Friends," this one would be The One With Luke Haxby

Seriously, guys: Please review. There's one more chapter plus an epilogue, and I'd like to hear what you guys think. I realize this piece is longer than my novel, and so I really appreciate you guys reading through.

* * *

_Can You Imagine When This Race is Won_

_Turning Up Our Faces unto the Sun_

_--Alphaville, "Forever Young" _

"Lizzy! Come on! Train's leaving the station!" Dad called from the car.

Elizabeth sighed, and shoved her feet in the nearest pair of shoes—her worn blue Converse. They didn't match her Lacoste polo and pearls at _all_ but they would have to do. "Coming, coming," she said, grabbing her books and dashing out to the car, where Dad, House, and Mom already sat. "You know, my shoes don't match."

"I think you'll live. Though it may be symptomatic of something," House deadpanned as Mom rolled her eyes. They were going into the hospital; Cuddy, whose life mission was now to avoid Daniel Hartmann at all costs, was heading over to House's to clean and stock up on groceries and things. The twins were taking Rocco to his school to pick up his stuff, before running by the high school, and Elizabeth was going to camp out in the empty conference room on the fourth floor and do homework. It had always been her spot.

Mom stared blankly out the window; Elizabeth thought she was taking the death well, all things considered, but she was still noticeably distant and snippy. Elizabeth couldn't blame her at all: The thought of losing _her_ own mother made her chest seize and she suddenly would stop breathing. "You got everything, Liz?" Mom asked, suddenly jumping back into action.

"Yeah," Liz said, sifting through her mounds of books. "I might use one of your IDs to get into Firestone later? I might need the quiet there."

"Sure," Mom replied despondently. "Rob, do we need to stop at Wegman's on the way back?"

"Probably," Dad shrugged. "House, you need anything?"

Something had happened—probably that fight Claire had walked in on—that had obviously caused a rift between Dad and House; today, they were being overly polite to each other. The politeness was madly disconcerting in itself. This new leaf was not House, and she wished Old House would pop up in case Old House had some vehement objection to actually moving in with Cuddy after being a playboy and stringing her along since before Elizabeth's birth. "I'll call Cuddy—see if you need to pick anything up." Or maybe, she hoped, this was House, actually adapting. He'd been sarcastic and snarky but not actually _mean_; he was only mean when he couldn't figure anything out and therefore got scared.

"What homework do you have, Lizzy?"

"Fifteen pages comparing two of the _Dubliners _sketches; twenty pages comparing Edna Pontellier and Pecola Breedlove." Her parents raised their eyebrows at each other; she doubted they knew who either of those characters were, but she wasn't going to get told she was doing a good job—she was an English major, after all. Her parents cut people up and saved lives. "Toni Morrison? Kate Chopin? Kinda famous?" she said, vaguely irritated.

And, of course, right on cue, Mom laughed. "Honey, I haven't read something that doesn't relate to some clinical trial since … 2015 at least. Why don't you suggest some summer readings for me?"

She sighed. "Sure. I'll think of something."

Thank God they lived like 500 feet from the hospital; she headed inside and spread her books around her conference table as her parents helped House and then, presumably, went to go re-establish themselves as Busy and Important People.

Still, the papers, the books, the arguments, together all provided a distraction; she had no idea what her parents were doing or that three hours had passed. Suddenly, though, the door to _her _conference room banged open, and three of her father's fellows—of _course_ Haxby was there—entered.

"They're inconclusive! It could still be para-neo-plastic syndrome," Diana Bromsky, who was sort of kick-ass, said.

"Chase already _said_ it wasn't. Even more, _House_ said it wasn't. Do you want Wilson in here as well? It's not, Bromsky, get over yourself," Jared Hunt, the most senior fellow, said. He then turned and saw her. "Oh, hey, Elizabeth, what's up?"

"Hey, Hunt. Hey, Bromsky, Haxby," she nodded at them all, trying to keep her eyes neutral. "I just like studying here—I have thirty-five pages of analysis to write before Monday. I used to work here all the time when I lived in Princeton. What are you guys doing here?"

Bromsky sighed, shoved her hands down into her lab coat. "We need the old white board." Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I know. House came back, you know, and he didn't like the _new_ one, so we were sent to get the old one back so House can think better."

She raised the other eyebrow. "And it takes three of you?"

Bromsky shrugged. "Your dad wanted us to keep arguing."

"If House says it's not para-neo-plastic you know you're wasting your breath. He's seen enough of it to know," she pointed out as Hunt started digging through a cabinet for the forgotten white board. "Sure it's not autoimmune?"

"_Positive_," Bromsky huffed, and Elizabeth remembered that she, too, was an immunologist. Oops.

Elizabeth shrugged. "What do I know? I analyze dead female writers and plan on getting a job at age 21." She didn't mean for it to be catty, because she'd always liked Bromsky, but it came out like that all the same, and the three left the room quickly. She noted bitterly that Luke hadn't said anything to her.

An hour later, though, Luke popped his head back in carefully. "Hey, Elizabeth."

"Hey, Luke," she said, also carefully. She only became more confused about the date in retrospect, her motives, her reactions, her advances muddling themselves together. And even though he was perfectly charming and gentlemanly on their date, he was so obviously damaged and haunted that it was laughable. And since the carefully constructed image of her family, her father, her mother, had tumbled down like the walls of Jericho in the last four weeks, she was pretty sure she wanted to stay as far away from damaged as possible.

But still. The damage was now undeniably alluring, in ways that his dreamy eyes hadn't been. She'd hooked up with a sophomore the week after her date with Luke, a friend of a friend she'd brought home from a party and booted out before his hangover even set in. And as she'd laughed with Maddie, Katch, and Annie the next morning, there was something oddly dissatisfying about it, and she'd drifted toward thinking about the cute damaged doctor again. In her mind, he'd seemed so steadying and sturdy compared to the bleary-eyed boy she'd woken up next to. She wanted to call him, but knew what an unbelievably bad, impossible idea it was.

Unfortunately, besides being old and damaged he was also funny and smart and polite. She couldn't help it; she was smitten, she decided. Dammit. "How are you? Did my dad make your life hell?"

"I was his scrub nurse for a few days, and he also put a lot of photos of you as a 10-year-old up around the office, but nothing too bad," he shrugged and grinned. "You want to grab a coffee?"

"I could use a break," she decided. She left her books on the table, knowing there was no way someone was going to steal a dog-eared copy of _Dubliners. _

"Sorry about your grandmother," he said as he held the door open.

"Thanks," she said. "We … we lived very far away, but it definitely compounded this month. One of my profs suggested I go talk to the campus mental-health services because of all my "family trauma" this month." The elevators door slid open and they stepped in.

He laughed and pressed B. "Any way you can translate that into an extension?"

"Yeah, but my other four classes are going to do me in before the extension rolls around. She pressed G.

"What?"

"We're not getting cafeteria coffee. It's total sledge. I know a place."

"I can't leave the hospital," he pointed out.

"Your patient is obviously doing well enough for you to come find me and ask me out for coffee," she retorted. "You might as well make it worth the trip."

He didn't protest, and they walked out the hospital, turned onto Witherspoon, until she found Joe Kuppa's, her second-favorite coffee shop in Princeton. "Have you been?" she asked as they stepped in.

"A few times—we usually get coffee from the Dunkin' Donuts on the corner opposite the parking garage. You used to sneak in here with a fake ID as well?" he teased.

She laughed. "No, but I do remember getting Americanos when I didn't even reach the counter. I was a total addict. The barista always asked my parents or House or Wilson or whoever if I didn't want a hot chocolate instead. House usually made them give me extra espresso after that question," she shook her head. "If people say a sugared-up eight-year-old is bad they've never met a 50-pound kid with four shots of espresso coursing through her system."

They got their coffee, chatting about the vagaries of life in New York and Princeton, and, weirdly, Zabar's, because he loved Zabar's and she'd only been there twice (it was a massively long trek from Morningside Heights). He detailed how the week with her father away had been: dueling attendings vying to get the diagnosis right, their inherent competiveness taking over, resorting to trying to call House but only getting his voicemail.

"House didn't pick up?" she asked, astonished.

"Yeah, we tried his cell, his house, and your parents' house—nothing."

"Damn," she said, sipping her Americano. "He really did want to adapt."

"What?"

"Wilson—made this bet with Cuddy, that House could stay away from the hospital and then that would mean that he could be convinced to move to Florida with her, or something. My family unfortunately played into it, and then my sisters and brother stupidly spilled to House. Or something. So he knew that if Wilson won the bet Cuddy would reconsider and they … worked out some sort of agreement this weekend."

"House is moving to Florida?" he asked.

"Sort of," Elizabeth rubbed her temples. "They worked out a here-and-there deal. I just hope it works out. They've never even lived together before, and they started dating before my _parents'_ wedding."

"Practically a lifetime," he said.

"Literally a lifetime," she laughed, and she knew, then, weirdly, at that instant where their ages seemed magnified, that she could only be his friend. "Anyways, I'm glad you invited me out for coffee," she changed the subject. "I … wanted to apologize for propositioning you because I was bored. And possibly making your life difficult, all out of impure motives." They weren't true, of course, but she was a much better liar than he.

He reddened at 'impure motives' but recovered quickly. "Chase would have found something else foul for me to work on," he said. "At least I got a good new bar out of it."

"We'll have to hit it up again, once I'm officially legal. Most of my friends from Princeton have completely scattered and we're never home at the same time, so we don't go out to the bars together," she said. "I would suggest now but it's a little light out. Or at least it should be." She glanced out at the cloudy afternoon sky. "Anyways. Truce? We're friends?"

"Of course," he said, downing his coffee. He pulled her into a hug, seemed relieved and confused at the track the conversation had taken. She deduced that he'd probably invited her out to quell any thoughts of an inappropriate follow-up date, and she smiled into his shoulder. If only he was 10 years younger, less complicated, and not employed by her father.

They walked back to the hospital in companionable silence. Finally, when they were in front of the main entrance, she said impulsively, "What's really your damage, Heather?'

He turned, a little startled. _"What_?"

"The Heathers. Good film. Super-old by this point."

"Okay, fine, but what did you _mean_?" he seemed genuinely puzzled by her question.

"I mean … that jockey-falling-from-the-horse story? Clearly fake. Something else compelled you to become a doctor. And you still think about it constantly. It's pretty apparent."

His face froze in shock. He looked down at his feet, his fingernails, before finally making eye contact with her. She shivered under his gaze. "You remember when I told you about my brothers?"

"Yeah. Daniel and Josh," she replied. She was surprised that she still knew this.

"Yeah. Well, what I didn't mention is that when … when Daniel was 14 he was diagnosed with lymphoma. Non-Hodgkin's, Burkitt's, actually. We tried treatment for two years but it didn't stick; it just kept getting more aggressive. They caught it pretty late, too. But eventually they decided he was terminal, when he was 16. I was fourteen. Instead of waiting around to die, he shot himself. Died instantly."

The air seemed to freeze. "Usually that's a conversation I wait a while to have," he finally said.

"Oh, my god," she said, feeling struck. "I'm—I'm sorry. I … really … I shouldn't've … I'm sorry …"

"It's okay," he said quickly. "You know, you're really easy to talk to, despite the whole intimidating family thing," he looked at the door. "I should get back to work."

"I think I'm going to go on a walk, actually, now," she said. She felt sick to her stomach about forcing the issue.

"Cool," he said, leaning in and kissing her cheek. "Friends? Give me a call next time you're in town."

"Of course," she said. She walked off, turned, and watched him walk into the building, feeling low and scummy and horrible for so, so many reasons.

She waited outside until there was no way he _couldn't_ be upstairs, then took the elevator and the back stairwell to her conference. Still, her groove was ruined; there was no way she could work.

Twenty minutes after she started staring at the blank laptop screen, House barged in, his wheelchair awkwardly knocking the sides of the doorframe. "What are you doing in here?" she asked suspiciously.

"They're running tests. I came to visit," he said. "Why do you look like the cat your father never let you have just died?"

She sighed, and shook her head, and pushed a book out of her way. There was not a chance she was going to tell House. "It's nothing. It's this paper, actually."

"Yeah, right," he said, rolling up to her.

"House, it's nothing, please don't push."

"Haxby reject you?" he guessed.

"I rejected him, but then I broke him," she shouldn't've phrased it _quite_ so melodramatically; he would just whine that she was neurotic and overly self-centered.

"You _broke _him? Cool! Except I just saw him and he looked fine. Unless you broke his penis? That wouldn't show."

"House," she said, feeling disgusted. "I asked too many questions, hit a nerve, alright? I just don't want to talk about it."

"People don't _break_," he pointed out in his Homer Simpson tone.

"I hit a _really big nerve_," she said testily, scooting in her chair. "Now I'm trying to concentrate, alright?"

"Hey, listen, kid," he said. "People bend. They don't break. Unless they die, then they break. But you always bounce back. Even if you don't think so."

"House, please. I … played with him too much. I was too curious. Can we really just let it drop?" she felt miserable.

"You _can't_ break a person. And it's always better once it's out. Quit trying to give yourself that much credit, too. You guys went on one date. _Nobody_ is that hot."

"Shut. Up," she said, finally getting angry. "I played with him too much, which, by the way, is something that I learned from _you_. And so I'm really not in the mood. Can you leave, please?"

"Hey, your parents might be doctors but you have no claim to this room. And grow up, Elizabeth. Life is long, and there aren't any consequences in the end."

"I go to church," she said, stubbornly veering off-topic.

"Fine, but those consequences are a long way off. The road is long, things go the way they're supposed to, or they just go the way they go, and then you die. People don't break over one conversation on a random Friday afternoon."

"I _get _that you're really happy now that you've conned Cuddy back, but I'm kind of upset, here. And I don't want to talk about it. So please go."

"You think I _conned_ Cuddy? You don't think Cuddy can think straight?"

"There's no way she would come back. You say it all the time. People only adapt to circumstances, they don't change. And so how else would she come back? One of you's pretending, and I don't think it's Cuddy."

"I did miss her, you know. We were together for most of your life."

"And it was practically a divorce when you broke up. And if you're not conning her into something, why else would you propose a 'compromise'?"

"Because I'm dying," he said.

"What?" she said sharply, the curdling thoughts about Luke Haxby dropping out of her mind like stirred dust.

"Not tomorrow, not the day after. But those stents your dad put in? Not going to last for long with my condition. My liver's not going to last; my heart isn't far behind. And let's not talk about my kidneys. Your mother is delusional when she says I could go 15, 20 more years. I give myself six at the outside. And so what'm going to do? I actually need someone here."

"_We're_ here. And does Cuddy know this?"

"We haven't talked about it, but she knows. It happens when you're this old, Liz. I'd rather spend these years _with _her than this pining crap. You and your family have your own thing, Wilson has something, too, and I want my thing. And Cuddy—she needs someone too. So we'll be together for a few more years, and then she can do the whole Florida thing permanently. I just needed to get her to agree to stay. She caved pretty easily, on the first offer. Never give in on the first offer, Elizabeth."

"That's … awful, House."

"Is it?" he said. "Because I think it gives us both something."

"It's the most ridiculously unromantic thing I've ever heard."

"It lets us both be happy. I wasn't going to make this offer to the first hooker off the street. I want Cuddy there. I'm almost 70, and dying. You think I'm going to go for the relationship with the best sex these days?"

"I want you to be with her because you _want_ to be with her."

"I do. Realizing I'm dying soon—just helped it along, there."

"Everybody's dying."

"Yeah, but I'm drastically closer than most. And I'm not going to have much dignity left by the end, and the only person I want there is Cuddy," he paused. "One day you'll understand," he threw in with his snarkiest voice.

She considered his words. They were very true, and very much in line with the way House thought, and in the way that his relationship with Cuddy, with all its stops and starts and their ages and history … in that way it almost sounded romantic. He knew he was dying, soon, he was intensely private, and he only wanted _her_ to be there, to see. "As long as Cuddy understands," she finally said.

"Believe me, she does," he sighed. "And Liz? People don't break."

"You keep saying that." She brought her mind back suddenly to Luke's face, stripped of every protective layer, open and raw because of her stupid questions. She knew she looked inconsolable, and that House would lose his patience quickly, but she didn't care.

"That's because it's true. Whatever you did, it's fine. Or will be. That's sometimes the better state. Obviously something got out. The only secrets that cause people to really get hurt are the ones they don't share."

"This wasn't a secret, this was prying."

"Same thing. Better to figure it out when it's still _prying_ than when it's a real secret," he said dismissively. "Finish your damn essay. If you're going to study English, you can at least do your homework. And push me into the hallway, unless you want me to _disturb _you more."

She got up, gently pushed him into the hallway so he could head back to diagnostics. She smiled. She was going to miss him during his months in Florida.


	25. Wherever You're Going Im Going Your Way

**Disclaimer** in part one!

Last chapter! Thank you everyone who stuck through this to the end--I know it's ridiculously long, but hopefully it was worth it. Please review to let me know what you think about the entire story! I'll be posting an epilogue at the beginning of next week!

Love!

* * *

_Two Drifters, Off to See the World_

_There's Such a Lot of World to See,_

_We're After the Same Rainbow's End--_

_Waiting Round the Bend_

_--Henry Mancini "Moon River" _

The first thing he noticed was the large Australian flag now framed over the fireplace. Previously the spot above the fireplace had been empty. "That's new," House said, to announce his presence. He leaned more heavily on his cane. It was cool from sitting for weeks, but it still fit in his hand, the worn crevices perfectly aligning with his grip.

"House!" Chase said, looking up from his paperwork. Why he still insisted on filling it out House never knew. "You're walking," he jumped up as soon as he noticed that House wasn't _exactly_ walking, more like desperately trying to remain standing and putting most of his weight on the doorframe or the cane. Chase pushed his own shoulder under House's armpit and they together walked to the armchair.

"New decorations?" House asked, nodding toward the flag.

Chase shrugged. "Yeah, had it for a while in the attic. Cameron and I are thinking a family trip to Oz right before the girls go off to school so—yeah."

House raised an eyebrow. "You want to play a final game?" he nodded toward the board.

"You all packed?" Chase asked.

"Cuddy's taking everything over; then _Cameron_ decided we'd all go out to dinner," House said. He knew that Cameron was immensely suspicious of his motives, even though Chase had told her to lay off and Elizabeth, before leaving for school again, had repeatedly assured her that everything was okay. Despite this, Cameron still had that beady, shrewd look in her eyes whenever she saw House.

It had barely been a week since Cameron's mother's funeral; Cuddy had left on Saturday, hastily packed and cleaned everything, then, yesterday, she'd dumped it in his guest bedroom and was currently sorting it out. She was coming to pick him up, to "officially" start this whatever, quite soon.

Truthfully, he was glad to be done with Cameron and Chase. Living with them had not been the unmitigated disaster he'd been imagining—they, and their kids, were much more resilient than he'd ever given them credit for—and he hadn't minded them seeing him in such a state. He was too old to care by this point.

But seeing _them_ so close—seeing their scars and quirks and ticks and ugly sides—had been too much for him, a flame next to ice. It was easier to be friends with them, to _not_ be so close to a family dynamic; fragile by definition, he honestly didn't want to even touch what was happening there. Yes, it was probably objectively better that Cameron and Chase had had these discussions, put those problems out there, stopped pretending their lives weren't carved out of grief; he just didn't think he could be there for the fallout without absolutely messing those kids up. Distance made them simpler.

Plus, he wanted to be with Cuddy. Something that was actually simple.

Chase dutifully pulled out the chess set, rotating the table so House would go first. They played in silence, both hunched over, their knuckles under their chins. House won, again, but barely; Chase triumphed in the second game, and House saw a skeleton of a smile on his face.

"Rocco really wants to play against you, you know. He's been reading chess books. Thinks it's like soccer."

"Yeah, it totally is," House deadpanned.

"Hey, if he's starting to think strategically I'm not going to mind. Best of three?" Chase offered, motioning to the board.

"Yeah, sure," House said, and Chase rearranged the pieces.

They played, again in silence—it was really the only way to play. As one of House's knights scooped Chase's bishop, he said, "I'm going to need a doctor."

Chase looked confused. "House, you _are_ a doctor."

"Yeah, but right now you have privileges in a hospital and I don't."

Chase looked visibly shocked. "You want me to be _your_ doctor? As in personal physician?"

"No, I'd like you to run tests on other people's blood and then give it to me, like you already do."

"Why not Wilson? And Cameron is actually a practicing clinician."

"Yeah, like I want to be the one Cameron delivers bad news to. _That _will go over well on all fronts."

"Give her a little credit."

"Cameron will always be emotionally attached. She cares. Plus, she'd totally tell the kiddies. You wouldn't." He studied Chase's reaction, which was, as usual, near-unreadable. "I don't want this to be a big thing."

"Having a doctor usually isn't."

"I haven't had a physician in 20 years. Why did the artery buildup get so bad? I went once 20 years ago and Wilson's been writing my scrips ever since."

"Yeah, we all _know_ that," Chase rolled his eyes. "Why not Wilson, anyways? If you're honestly worried, that means you think it'll be something like cancer, or at least something long-term. And that's … kind of his thing."

"If anything _does_ go wrong," House said, slowly picking up his bishop, "Wilson will only feel guilty about 'enabling' me since time immemorial."

"Oh, and _I _won't?"

"I odn't think so," House judged his face. Sometimes Chase just liked to play devil's advocate; he was sure this was one of those.

"What –What do you think you have, anyways?"

"Probably nothing yet. It'll come soon though."

"What are you thinking?"

"Check-ups. Once a month."

"I don't _do_ checkups."

"Everybody does checkups."

"You want bloodwork, everything, but hush-hush from Cameron? Who oversees the billing for regular clinical patients?"

"You don't think you can find a way around that?" House could name 1,000 already: File it under the department _Chase_ ran, for instance.

"Alright," Chase said. Then, "Checkmate."

House stared at the board. Damn. He'd stopped paying attention. Chase grinned. "Come on. Let's finish getting you packed. Cuddy'll be back any minute."

They walked back to House's room, Chase helping him walk along the way. "You sure you don't want the wheelchair?" Chase asked skeptically as he straightened the bed and handed House his last bag.

"Positive, actually," House said. He could walk. Not far, but it wasn't far to the kitchen. It wasn't far from there to the car.

They made their way across the great room slowly; House stared at the massive portrait of Chase and Cameron and simply shook his head. It was a good picture.

Cuddy was already waiting in the kitchen, sitting at the table like she belonged and talking to Cameron. He grinned when he saw her. She was still slightly saucy, still edgy—the best things never changed. The three kids had all hugged him earlier that morning before heading to Saturdays packed with practices and studying. They knew they'd still see him constantly.

"You're all set?" Cameron's voice was a little tremulous. Oh God. She was _not _going to cry.

"Yeah. Don't worry, I left behind some surprises. You'll love them when you see them, but they'll need a few days to grow." It worked; she no longer looked like she could be set off.

"You know you're coming over for dinner on Tuesday, right?" she asked.

"Yes, _Mom_," he said. He didn't understand why Cameron had suddenly shoved down the personal-space barriers the family had erected—he wished they were still up—but Elizabeth had told him she pretty much wanted him over once a week for meals.

"Ready to go?" Cuddy asked, rising from the table.

"Yes," he said definitively. They walked outside, the three of them circling him in case he should fall. He rolled his eyes. Of course. In the driveway, he hugged Cameron, who looked like she was going to cry again. "Quit it, or I _will _make you cry," he threatened, before slapping Chase on the back. "See ya around."

"Yeah," Chase said, his expression careful.

House hobbled around to the passenger's side as Cuddy said goodbye to Chase and Cameron. Chase slipped an arm around Cameron's waist. Cameron unconsciously squeezed his hand and leaned into him.

"All set?" she asked as she slid into the car as well.

"_Yes_," he said, sighing dramatically and slumping back in his seat. He placed a hand over hers. Through the rearview mirror he could see Chase and Cameron waving. Of course. "Let's go home. I think this is the start of a beautiful relationship."

Please review!


	26. Though I Know I'll Never Lose Affection

**Disclaimer** in part one.

Whew! This is a doozy of an epilogue to a doozy of a story. This actually took much longer than anticipated to write, which is strange because this scene is where the story's been leading to since the third chapter when Cameron mourned her the anniversary of her first wedding. I had such a hard time striking the right tone, especially, I think in the last part. Let me know what you think.

Thank you again for sticking with the novel-like monster, and I really appreciate all your comments, criticisms, and encouragement over the past three months. I've loved these new characters and the way they relate to the old characters, and to explore the impacts of years and generations on our favorite television character's lives. Please leave one last review!

* * *

_Five and a half years later!_

_All these places had their moments_

_With Lovers and Friends I Still Can Recall_

_Some are Dead and Some are Living_

_In My Life I've Loved Them All_

_But of All These Friends and Lovers_

_There are None that Compare to You_

_And these Memories Lose their Meaning_

_When I think of Love, As Something New_

_--The Beatles, In My Life_

The room, everything, looked gorgeous, perfect; Allison thought that, yes, it definitely was worth the costs and the stress. As it should be. It was a wedding.

She sat erect at an ornately draped table, one hand lightly caressing a champagne flute. She looked around the room, searching for her children. Though the Palmer Room at the Nassau Inn was very crowded, the lights were dimmed and it was completely covered in gold, silver, and navy blue, she was pretty sure her four children were especially distinguishable.

"Looking for someone?" Robert asked, holding two plates of hors d'oeuvres.

She lifted her head. "Found them," she said, eyeing the laughing, circulating children: Lizzy, with Luke, was talking to some hospital people; Claire looked like she was gossiping in a corner with the boyfriend she'd picked up at Penn, who had then followed her to Johns Hopkins; Sophie was playing with Rebecca Wilson, who looked very grown-up for nine; Rocco was sitting down, his girlfriend, Caroline, on his lap, and they were laughing with some random teenaged guest. "You all set for your spin?"

"Got my dancing shoes on," he said, taking a seat next to her. She laughed, remembering his shuffling at their reception. "Don't get all nostalgic yet; I hate to see you after a glass of wine."

She poked him in the ribs, laughed, and fully straightened. "I have a right to feel nostalgic! That's Lizzy in that white dress, you know!" She sighed, looking at her oh-so-grown-up daughter, radiant in a gorgeous, strapless white satin dress with silver beading and a full, draped train by Badgley Mischka.

"I know. Do you _remember _handing over any credit cards lately?" he said drolly.

She hit his knee. "It was worth it. Look at how happy they are." She clasped Robert's hand and stared at Luke and Elizabeth.

This day had been a long time coming; she'd had her suspicions since the family's Fourth of July party the summer after Elizabeth's junior year. She'd decided it was inevitable when Luke moved to New York City—even though they hadn't been dating at the time—when his fellowship was done, shortly after she graduated. And here they were, barely four and a half years later, back home to get married at the church where Elizabeth had been baptized.

Elizabeth was doing quite well for herself, of course, she was a research editor and contributing writer at _The New Yorker_; she'd just had her first 2,000-word piece published there. She'd fallen in love with writing and journalism sort of late, after the internship at _Vanity Fair, _and had earned an M.A. at Columbia's j-school as well. Some of her other work was appearing in the _New York Times Cultural Review _and _New York _and _Vanity Fair _and _The Atlantic_. She'd called Allison in raptures the other month when the _Times _had named her as one of "Thirty under Thirty to Watch." Luke was already a department chairman at Columbia. They had a large condo and a larger mortgage on the Upper West Side.

The other three were doing very well, too, of course; it was so disconcerting to feel so irrelevant to their lives and successes. Rocco was the only one left at home. He was a junior, knew he wanted to go to Duke or Dartmouth and then medical school but, as always, he simply _needed_ her less than any of his sisters had. He went to soccer and to swimming, ran track, volunteered at an elementary school, played his trumpet (she made him stay in band), went out with his friends or with Caroline, whom he'd been dating for over a year now. He didn't call her from school when he had a bad test, like Claire did, or send her a text to ask what type of eggplant simmered best, like Lizzy, or send camera-phone pictures of 10 different pairs of shoes when shopping, like Sophie did. She didn't even know he'd dropped French class (at least he still took Japanese) until she'd received her schedule for parent-teacher conferences eight weeks into the semester. No, sons were different.

The twins were, of course, doing marvelously. Sophie was at Yale Law; Claire, Johns Hopkins Med. They'd been co-maids of honor today, and were in gorgeous, strapless tea-length champagne satin dresses with notched fronts and empire waists, where massive navy bow-sash things started. Claire had recently dyed her hair an extremely dark mahogany, and Sophie had changed her light-chestnut hair to a blonde even paler than Lizzy's, and together the contrast was striking. Claire had grown strong enough and assertive enough to make it as a doctor during college, but her inherent naiveté still remained, and that made Allison glad. Sophie had channeled her curiosity and indignation in positive ways, had found causes she loved to champion, wanted to go into international human-rights work.

Claire had been dating Stephen since their sophomore year, and there was something sweet and steady about them. They'd probably be getting married for keeps within the next three years. Sophie had recently had a breakup that resembled a fireworks extravaganza, with many tears and phone calls and yelling in the streets and much (according to Sophie) throwing of laundry out windows. She was home tonight with her best friend from college, Ryan, who had recently broken up with his boyfriend as well.

She smiled as she the photographer snapped a candid of her four children plus Luke, the girls playfully mussing Rocco's hair. "Come on," Robert said. "This is Lizzy's day, but what that really means is that _we_ should celebrate because it means _we _did something right. Drink up, dance around a little, and let's embarrass the one teenager we have left. We've been fabulously successful, so let's celebrate that right now."

His grin made her smile, and she leaned forward and kissed him deeply. "Thank you for the past 27-odd years," she told him. Her everything, really, at this point. There was nobody else with whom she'd rather spend those near-three decades.

He grinned ever more broadly, pulled her back in for another kiss. "And thank you for doing the heavy lifting here—look how amazing our kids are."

"You _know_ you did more than you're giving yourself credit for," she smiled.

"Come on," he grinned, standing and offering her a hand. "Before we get even sappier and more self-congratulatory, let's host this party."

She smiled and stood, adjusting her own eggplant-colored sheath. Her mother-of-the-bride dress. She wrinkled her nose. Such an unacceptable term.

"You know, I think we did it right when we went to Jamaica," she slipped her hand into his. "Not being in winter helped, too."

"They wanted a Christmassy wedding. December 11th is about as close as you can get."

"Mum! Dad!" Lizzy called, kissing Luke's cheek and rushing up to them. "I haven't seen you two in, like, at least ten minutes," she laughed giddily, the intensity of the entire day getting to her. She probably shouldn't've had that champagne, either. "How are you?"

"That's not the question today, it's how are _you_?" Robert smiled.

She grinned, her smile free and gorgeous in its inhibition. "Pretty damn good, actually," she said. "You all set for the dance, Dad?"

He spun awkwardly, and Elizabeth grinned, because nothing was going to bug her today. "Perfect," she smiled, and kissed his cheek, a blessing and a benediction and a daughter who was now officially grown saying goodbye all in one.

Maybe she needed to lay off the champagne, too, Allison thought ruefully. She was getting maudlin.

"You know, I think I'm going to go rescue Sophie from one of Haxby's overeager cousins," Robert said, kissing her cheek before departing. She followed his gait, finally noticed Sophie practically shoving a guy away.

"Oh, god, Mom, thank you _again_ for everything, it's so _perfect_," Elizabeth took her hand and they began to move through the crowd.

"You don't get married every day," Allison replied, her mind flashing to her two weddings: One, hasty in a cold church followed by a roast chicken at a nearby restaurant; the other, thirteen years later, alone on a beach in Jamaica followed a week later by a relaxed, slightly raucous, party at an Italian place. Neither one this substantial or formal.

She couldn't believe that free-spirit vivacious Lizzy was the first to get married, honestly, that was it. She also couldn't believe Lizzy was doing for all the right reasons, no romantic notions attached. She was clear-eyed, she had considered the pros and cons, had waited a day to give Luke her answer. For Elizabeth's group of people, marriage was optional these days, and definitely in the future. None of her friends from high school or college had yet wed. Most of them, Allison knew, simply weren't mature enough yet. And, somehow, at 25, Lizzy was. Slightly extraordinary. "Just don't have grandkids anytime soon, okay? I'm totally unprepared for that word." She knew it was a distant proposition but the rings made it loom closer.

"Please, you know I'm naming my first son Chase Gregory Haxby—don't you want to see what he looks like? Or _acts _like?"

"Oh, I don't know. I could wait a decade. Or two." She tucked a fallen lock of hair behind Elizabeth's hair. She knew Elizabeth _definitely_ wasn't having kids for ages, but the prospect made her shiver.

"Mom, I know you're feeling way old right now, but _please_ be happy today," Elizabeth said unexpectedly.

"Oh, I'm very happy," Allison said, surprised. "I'm just in disbelief. You're extraordinary, Lizzy, really."

"Please, Luke and I have been dating for four years," she shifted nervously.

"I know, I know, and I love Luke. Really," she hadn't liked him at first, of course, his age and the awkward first date notwithstanding. She didn't think Liz could handle being with a doctor, the schedule and the stress and the patients first. But Lizzy was nothing if not surprising. "But I can't believe that _you_, Lizzy, are ready to be married at 25. I'm happy. I'm proud," she thought of her 25-year-old self, how awkward and intense she had been. How sad and obsessive. If she'd met Robert then nothing would have happened, nothing could have lasted. "I know I couldn't've done it."

But all of it was worth it, now, she thought, if it meant she was able to raise Lizzy, to teach Lizzy those lessons without her having to live them. It meant that Lizzy, at 25, was able to be the grown-up Allison could not have been. All those years of loss and feeling lost were valuable now, because now her children, strengthened through their acute aware of loss—if not quite their strong personal experience with it— could lead thoughtful and normative lives. They were sacrifices on the altar of the next generation, if she thought about it poetically.

"Luke's kind of great, isn't he?" Elizabeth asked, hugging a nearby friend before continuing on their path. "So you're really happy? I couldn't stand if you weren't happy today."

"Of course I am," she smiled gaily. "Now, you have about 242 guests that want to speak with _you_, but remember that drinks are over in 20 minutes and then it's dinner."

She kissed her daughter's cheek and sent her off excitedly through the crowd to her friends and husband, and meandered back to their table, stopping to chat with Luke's mother—who was a good decade older than she—and his brother's wife, the mother of the trio of flower girls. She hugged a few doctors, swiped a drink off a tray, and greeted Kutner and Foreman, sitting near the soon-to-be dance floor. Kutner and Natesa were there without the boys, and Foreman, who had brought a pretty, divorced high-school principal (they'd met at _church—_what the hell?) had inexplicably grown an awful mustache. It was big and busy and white and completely incongruous with his face. He had finally accomplished his ultimate dream; he was now the dean of medicine at Mass Gen-Harvard.

"Never thought _I'd _be here," he'd remarked dryly, sipping a whiskey and looking around. "Nice party, by the way, Cameron."

"We do what we can. We're definitely only paying for two more. No idea yet on which kids those go to though. The bidding starts tomorrow," she said back, her tone deadpan. "I'm glad you could make it."

He laughed. "You two never cease to amaze me. First you start _dating_, then you move in together, then you get engaged, then you actually have children, then those _children_ grow up and get married."

"I know, it's a totally surprising story there," she said sarcastically. Foreman's astonishment that she and Robert had married was getting old.

"Lizzy looks beautiful, Cameron," he said sincerely, ignoring her tone.

"Thank you," she said. Kissing his cheek, she headed to her table, as close to the head table as possible.

Sophie's date Ryan was sitting there, entertaining a guy that Allison thought was a coworker of Luke's. Caroline, twirling a drink, was sitting as well, talking on her cell phone.

And House and Cuddy, plates loaded down with appetizers, leaned close in conversation.

"Sweet shindig, Cameron," House said, popping a mini-spanokopita. "How much is this cheese thing running you? Did they warn you they were putting spinach in it?"

It had become easier, in the last five years, to be friends with House: They could go out to dinner together, buy him groceries, invite him over with a regularity not possible when all the kids were home. It was simply easier for him to accept their offerings, and she and Robert had become a bit braver, a bit more unabashed. They weren't worried about what he thought of them, weren't worried about whether the kids could or would be upset, and they could simply … be friends, in a relaxed way not previously possible .

"I think those are 25 a dozen, House, but if you take the tomato-basil-mozzarella skewers, those are 32 a dozen," she sank into the chair next to him.

House was very old now, his body gnarled over like a tree, his skin yellow and pockmarked, his body emaciated, his hair thinned and greasy. He could only walk short distances, and he looked at least a decade older than he actually was. But his mind was still intact. She honestly didn't know what she would do if his mind ever started to go.

She doubted that would be a problem, though: Robert had told her, just a few months ago, that he had been monitoring House's health as a favor for the past five years, and it was now deteriorating at such a rapid rate they didn't think he'd be around by Easter. His kidneys had been shot for over two years, but dialysis had helped there; now, his liver was going as well, and there was nothing to help his liver live.

But he was here today, in a suit with legs not quite long enough. He sat with Cuddy, who Cameron officially doubted could ever look bad. Today she was radiant in a navy cocktail dress, her 70-year-old cleavage still perfect and proudly on display, stilettos hiking her up at least a good three inches.

"Are you two enjoying yourselves? Thank you for coming up, by the way," Allison said. "It means a lot to Elizabeth."

Cuddy nodded. "Of course. I honestly can't believe it—I remember her _birth_."

"Obviously you never changed one of her diapers, you wouldn't be nearly so nostalgic if you did," House groused. "Thank God for outgrowing that stage."

"No, instead they grow up and suddenly they're calling you from Paris because they're engaged," Allison watched Elizabeth and Luke float through the crowd. "Admit it, you never thought you'd see this day. Just don't you dare make a toast about Elizabeth's diapers."

"Hey, I made a kickass toast at your reception," House said. "I quoted Rilke. Who quotes Rilke?"

"I remember you also told everyone there that our relationship earned us a not-fail at life, just for getting married. Where are we at now?"

He studied her carefully. "B+. Once you two retire and start trying to re-meet each other we'll evaluate," he reached for Cuddy's hand and stroked it with his thumb.

"We'll see how that goes," she smiled, and House turned to an approaching Hartmann, presumably to insult him enough so he'd leave quickly.

"I'd like to talk to you, later," Cuddy whispered swiftly. Allison, startled, nodded. Cuddy got up and headed toward the bar again. Allison swiped a skewer from House's plate. Hartmann, thoroughly upset at House's comment about his shoes and waistline, turned and left.

"Hey, no sharing," he scolded, taking it back.

She laughed and grabbed it again. "Be nice to Hartmann. And it's not sharing if I paid for it."

"I think your floppy-haired doctor-husband covered this one, actually," he took it back. "You teach all your daughters to marry rich, or just the one who becomes a 'writer'?" he asked.

"Leading by example, I guess," she sighed, staring at Lizzy and Luke. "I definitely feel better about her safety—Lizzy couldn't apply a Band-Aid properly if required," she squeezed his hand. "You've said hello to her? It means a lot to her that you came up to see her get married."

"Wouldn't miss it," he said gruffly. "Free food, free booze—I've never understood why people think I'd dislike weddings. Beats fly-fishing every day."

She laughed, picturing House as a fly fisher. "Shuffleboard, too, I'd assume. How's life in Florida?" He and Cuddy had made their yearly trek the week after Thanksgiving this year.

"Not as warm as previous years," he said. "How're _you_ holding up? Nothing says old and useless like a kid saying they'd rather get married."

She smiled. "I'm trying not to look at it that way. But it's a change. Paradigmatic shift, even." She was accepting it, though. It was just going to take a while.

"Thought you were always pro-change?"

"Pro-positive change," she smiled. "So are you too, you old softie."

"Don't tell people that I think Luke's good for her; it'll wreck my street cred."

She smiled at him; he was softer and smaller from age, but he wasn't diminished. He seemed relaxed today, at peace, no inherent turmoil lurking under his exterior. He had finally come to terms with his life, which had had a balm upon his soul not unlike finding religion. He was wiser, he was older, and he was okay with that. He was still _House, _at his core, but he had stopped struggling and started coasting on life. They all had. Life was so much easier once the lessons stopped banging you over the head. She smiled more.

"What?" he demanded. "Don't get all saccharine."

"It's my daughter's wedding," she protested. "Of course I'm going to get saccharine. And I'm very glad you're here. Did you ever think this would have happened when you hired me for my looks?" she tilted her head. "You look happy," she smiled.

He rolled his eyes, but flicked a pretzel at her.

Just then the tables all began to fill, the bridal party made their way to the head table. Stephen came to sit with them, and Robert made seven.

They seemed to rush through the toasts—Sophie and Claire did an adorable joint thing, complete with interjections from Rocco, before Luke's brother Daniel took the mic, followed by Robert, followed by a glowing Elizabeth. Finally dinner was served before being swept away quickly, and Robert and Elizabeth had their dance, to _My Girl _(Chase had originally wanted some awful ABBA song; Lizzy made Allison talk him down). Then it was Luke's mother-son dance, to _You Are the Sunshine of My Life_, then the bride and groom danced to _Maybe I'm Amazed_. They cut the cake, and the dancing officially started. Allison felt slightly bereft through the entire thing, alcohol mixing with feelings of loss mixing with astonishment at her age. Starting with her first job with House she'd been tugged into currents she couldn't quite control; the end result was grown-up children.

They sat for a while, but slowly everyone got up, started dancing and talking again. A seemingly endless stream of people stopped by to congratulate her, say how beautiful Elizabeth was. Cuddy danced with Foreman, and Taub and Hartmann came over with cigars for House. Robert had stopped by to chat with Kutner, and he returned, a mojito in hand for her.

"You trying to get me drunk?" she teased. "Want to have your way with me, is that right?"

"Pretty sure I have other methods of persuasion," he said, catching her waist with his arm. "Come on, now, seriously, cheer up. Lizzy's getting worried."

Allison laughed. "I'm very, very happy. Promise," she tilted her head up and kissed him.

"Dance?" he suggested as the song switched.

"See, this is a sign of how much I love you, that I'll dance with your two left feet," she laughed again, set her drink down, and pulled him onto the dance floor.

They spun out as an Allison Krauss oldie came on, twirled slowly in place, no words required. Robert really did have two left feet, and she loved him for it.

"So what do you think about pulling a House and Cuddy and retiring south?" he said spontaneously.

"How far 'south' are we talking?" she asked, thinking about how Sophie wanted to work in Boston. "And when?"

"After Rocco gets off to school. And around Melbourne?"

"Australia?" she gasped. Her first inclination was to say _absolutely not, so far from the kids_, but it was not such a bad idea, really. Robert liked Australia more than he let on. And that far away, distance from Boston didn't matter the way it would if it was Arizona versus Florida. "I don't know." She looked at him. "Definitely not for three months in a row, but … a few times a year for a while … could be nice," she looked at him. It had taken years, but he was definitely re-warming to Australia: They'd visited about once a year for the past few years. "It would probably be smart to buy a place to stay when we visit."

He grinned. "What I was thinking."

The song changed and they stepped off the dance floor so Lizzy's friends could all link arms and jump around. They drifted together among the groups of people for a while, laughing and kissing and exchanging stories, until Robert mysteriously made eye contact with Rocco, and then whispered, "Gotta go," before disappearing into the crowd. She turned, and noticed Cuddy, sitting alone at their table. She grabbed two white wine spritzers and headed toward her.

"Hey," she said, sitting down next to her. "Would you like a drink?"

"That'd be great, thank you," Cuddy took a long, contemplative sip. "How're you holding up? First kid getting married and all …"

"I can't believe I'm _old_ enough to do this," Allison remarked. "I mean, I'm not seriously this old, am I?"

"You'd be surprised at how quickly you become irrelevant," Cuddy said dryly.

"How're _you_ doing? You wanted to talk?"

"Yeah," Cuddy took another sip of her wine. "I just wanted to let you know … that Greg and I aren't heading back to Florida after the wedding, as planned. We'll … we'll be staying in Princeton. Robert knows; Greg told him on Thursday night once we got here. The trip was too hard and … it was just too much. It's better to be in Princeton."

Allison was silent, reading in between the lines. So many years ago, the news of House's incredibly imminent death wouldn't have fazed her; she could rationalize it as him living the life he did. Life and death situations didn't affect him. But to have had him survive this long, to see him settle into a quiet retirement, now death seemed highly unjust and unfair again. "Robert told me he's been monitoring him for five years now, he said through spring, but … it's closer than we thought?"

"Yeah," Cuddy affirmed, not making eye contact. "We're hoping through New Year's. The meds aren't working, the dialysis isn't working, he's in a lot of pain. … He did really want to be here, though, that was the most important thing. He gets to see everyone grown-up and happy without making a big deal out of it. And he got a good retirement for a bit, and you know he'd get _bored _if he lived much longer, really," her voice caught, and she took a few minutes to compose herself. Allison put a hand on her arm. "But he made it through Elizabeth getting married and the twins graduating, and he saw Rocco almost grow up as well, and Rebecca will remember him. … He didn't want me to tell you or Wilson, thought it would put your 'overworked guilt complexes into overdrive,' but I thought you should know." She looked down. "He got peace, on his terms, and that's what will matter, right?"

"How are _you_ holding up?" Allison asked honestly.

"About as well as can be. I've accepted it. I got a few good years with him, _really_ with him, and yes, he's still aggravatingly _House_ and he's snappish a lot because of the pain, and he's not the way I wanted him but I'd rather have this than … than the way it used to be. I know he loves me, and this is harder for him, too, so … So I'll be fine. I thought you should know."

"You two should come spend Christmas dinner with us," Allison offered. "Claire's cooking this year, so it _will_ actually taste good this time," she laughed. "We've already invited the Wilsons; Rebecca wanted to 'see' Christmas, so they're coming to see a traditional Christmas."

"That would be lovely," Cuddy smiled wanly, her eyes star-bright with unshed tears.

Suddenly from the right, House, Luke, Rocco and Robert approached, and sat down swiftly at the table.

"Where _have_ you been?" Allison asked, taking another long sip of wine.

"Hello to you too, dearest," Robert said sarcastically, pecking her cheek.

"Have you been _smoking_ …" she sniffed his shirt, "cigars?"

"Luke's welcome present," House said, slowly lowering himself into the chair, his thin face contorted with pain.

"Rocco, did _you_ smoke?" she asked seriously.

"Dad said it was okay!" Rocco said, laughing. "And, Mom? You're a _little_ drunk right now, maybe think about grounding me tomorrow?"

"I can't _believe_ you gave him a cigar," she muttered, but Robert just put his arm around her anyways.

"Smoking's _bad_ for you," Rebecca Wilson, approaching with both her parents, said in an extremely judgemental tone. She looked crestfallen at the idea of Rocco—on whom she had a very-apparent crush—smoking a cigar.

"It's okay at weddings, sometimes, honey," Wilson tried to pacify her.

"Grab a seat," House gestured, and the three sat down, Rebecca in Wilson's lap. "Cigar for you, Jimmy?"

"Not right now, no," he said, gesturing exaggeratedly to a ticked-off Rebecca.

"There you guys are," Elizabeth approached, and kissed her new husband deeply. "Have you been smoking?"

"It was House's idea," Luke said quickly, and everyone laughed. Elizabeth slipped into the chair next to him.

"My god, my feet are _killing_ me," she laughed, kicking off her shoes. "And I'm seriously beginning to regret my decision not to buy a cocktail dress for the reception."

"Is that because the bodice is way too tight or you're just realizing how long it will take Luke to undo the silver buttons all down your back?" House asked, taking another sip.

"Both actually," Elizabeth laughed. "Though even with the dress on I could still probably beat you in a chugging contest, old man, so watch the cracks."

"Liz, the DJ said we had to come to you to get permission to play the explicit versions of songs. They're so much more fun, so is that okay?" Sophie, arm-in-arm with Claire, approached.

"Ugh, no, sorry," Lizzy said. "Luke's nieces are still here, among other small children."

"_Your _nieces now, too," Claire said.

"That's right," Elizabeth said, nuzzling Luke's neck. "_My _nieces," she laughed. One of the three photographers trailing them all snapped a photo. "Did everyone eat enough cake?" The cake had been a delicious mocha-hazelnut mountain piled with creamy vanilla frosting; Allison didn't think she'd ever eat a comparable cake.

"Dear God, I think you're trying to poison me with sugar," House groaned. He raised his whiskey glass. "Anyways, toast time. Or my toast time. Old fun-sucker Cameron forbade it earlier." He cleared his throat importantly.

"Oh God," Robert muttered, taking a swig before raising his glass.

"To Rocco, Sophie, and Claire, for surviving your childhoods as best you could. I know _those _two old farts didn't make it easy," Robert very visibly rolled his eyes, but House continued. "To Rebecca, for looking ravishingly adorable in that pink dress," he winked at Becca, who blushed and snuggled into her dad's lap. "To Jimmy, for being the best Robin Batman ever needed, and to Leah, for _finally _taking him off my hands," Wilson rolled his eyes, and Leah laughed and kissed him.

"To Cameron, for not crying too much at the wedding. To Chase, for not tripping Elizabeth. To the awesome open bar you stocked today. You two figured it out a long time ago that the love you take is equal to the love you make, and hopefully those lessons penetrated the thick heads of your offspring," he raised a glass toward them, and there was an inscrutable, but important lesson in his eyes that made Allison shiver. House's toast was serious this time; a way, she realized of saying good-bye but finally settling into his odd roll of their group's patriarch. "You didn't get them all right, but you didn't get them all wrong, and when it's over 30 years that counts for a lot of something."

"To Lisa, for sticking it out for the long run. I've taken far more than I could ever give you," she shook her head and smiled, put her hand on his shoulder. "And now, for the full disclosure, for Chase's puritanical sake: I've had two whiskeys, a beer, and four Vicodin today. But finally, to Luke and Elizabeth, for getting it right and getting it together. Despite the somewhat questionable examples of relationships Elizabeth had growing up—" he shot a glance at Robert and Allison, just to needle them.

"Let's not forget anti-role models," Robert interjected pointedly.

"Never said I was great role model," House countered. "Or _tried _to be. But, anyways. Before I was rudely interrupted I was saying something. You two are lucky you're not idiotic to ignore what's in front of you, and brave enough to make the plunge. It gets harder after this, though, so watch out. A lot of people gave a lot of things for you to get to this place, and you'd better remember it. I don't do advice and I've never been married, for what it's worth, but from what I've seen it's plenty hard work. Lizzy, I've watched you push and explore and be curious and never give up when it's easy since practically the day you were born, and now's not the time to start. And Luke, if you can hold your own in a conversation with Lizzy that means you're not half bad yourself. Just remember the road is long and in the end, if you do it right, each day matters just as much as the one before it and the one after it. And that very, very little matters in the end." He looked hard at Elizabeth, who swallowed, and then at Cuddy, who averted her eyes again, blinking back tears. None of the kids noticed, though, thank God.

"House, that was perfect," Elizabeth said, leaning over while still holding Luke's hand and kissing his cheek. She looked thrilled that House had decided to gather and pass along wisdom, mistakenly thinking it meant he considered her wedding a mature and momentous occasion. Her excitement had blinded her to the fact that her parents were slowly exchanging sly, sad glances at House's words and Cuddy's reaction. Wilson looked alarmed as well. Robert, Allison could tell, knew instantly that she knew about House's health.

He squeezed her hand gently. "It's okay," he whispered. "Just for today, it's okay—look at how happy everyone is."

She looked around. It was true. Today, if anything, was an example of just how life never stopped moving, and how, ultimately, accepting and reacting accordingly was the only way to truly live. "Toast to that?" she said, offering up her glass.

"To what?' Robert lifted his own. "To House and his toast."

"To the long run," Cuddy said.

"To daughters growing up too fast," Wilson said.

"To seeing friendships last thirty years," Lizzy offered.

"To new beginnings," Luke said.

"To, you know, Lizzy and Luke?" Claire laughed, sticking up her glass.

"To Mom and Dad, and House and Cuddy. And Wilson and Leah," Sophie added diplomatically.

"To _ending_ toasts," Rocco said.

They all laughed, tipping and tilting their glasses at each other.

_Clink_.


End file.
